


Defiance

by ivorytower



Series: Unityverse Sidestories [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorytower/pseuds/ivorytower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place during Unity 17-18 (listed as 18-19 on AO3), Jaina is called to Stormwind to do a favour for Bolvar Fordragon,  and is required to deal with a problem that is spiraling rapidly out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Early Autumn, Year 28

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 17th, 2013, on LiveJournal.

Stormwind was not Theramore. It was an inane observation but a true one nonetheless: both overlooked the ocean, though from two different angles. Theramore, while protected, still felt open to the sea. It embraced the water, the sandy shoals, and its neighbouring marsh. It welcomed travellers, and the commerce they brought with them. Stormwind felt more like a fortress. The whole of the city was walled, seeming to forbid significant expansion, and each section of the city was separated by a canal system. Jaina’s nose wrinkled as the smell of it overwhelmed the faint, salt-smell of the sea.  
  
_One could forget the ocean is at your back here... awful._  She sighed lightly. That was unfair. Stormwind had been rebuilt twice, and its martial bearing kept that in mind. She had designed Theramore herself, based on a very old personal project she’d worked on while she’d still been studying in Dalaran.  
  
_Theramore was my thought experiment, my theory about how one could build a mage-city from the very ground up. I’d like to meet the man whose mind conceived this._  
  
“Is something wrong, Lady Proudmoore?” The voice was that of Archmage Malin, his tone tinged with worry. Jaina turned and smiled warmly.  
  
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” she assured him. “I was just admiring the city. How do you manage the canals?”  
  
“Spells,” Malin replied tiredly. “I have a whole host of mages whose sole job is to renew the filtration enchantments so our wells remain uncontaminated, and we dump little into the sea. I still wouldn’t swim in it, though.”  
  
“No, of course not,” Jaina agreed. “Thank you for allowing me to use the Academy as a teleportation point.”  
  
“No trouble at all, Lady Proudmoore,” Malin replied, smiling. “It must have been quite the journey, we can provide facilities for recovery before you move on to the Keep if you like.”  
  
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Jaina said. “But your concern is appreciated.”  
  
Jaina let arcane magic hover around her briefly, illuminating the surprised expression on the Archmage’s face as she teleported across the city to Stormwind’s Keep.  
  
The Keep, seat of the Wrynn dynasty’s power, was the most fortress-like part of Stormwind’s martial style, and Jaina wrinkled her nose again. Her own tower had been designed to be conducive to magical studies, and while the coastline was reinforced against naval strikes, Jaina has strived to keep the city’s defenses subtle. Here, it was a threat and a promise: Stormwind’s armies would protect it. It would never fall again.  
  
_Those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them,_  Jaina thought, and wondered if the lesson here had been learned or not, and if it would come to pass that such would be tested. Certainly, it took only an eyeblink for the guards in front of whom she’d teleported to draw weapons and step forward.  
  
“State your business, mage,” growled one of the guards. Jaina smiled at him. His grip tightened on his weapon.  
  
_Smile, it throws people off._  “My name is Lady Jaina Proudmoore, ruler of Theramore and Archmage of the Kirin Tor. I am here by invitation of Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, equerry to King Varian Adamant Wrynn. I would very much like to pass.”  
  
“You can’t just--”  
  
“I’m afraid she can, because she’s Jaina Proudmoore,” pointed out a voice from behind the guards, and they both turned. A man in a white silk shirt and blue cotton trousers stood behind them, a sword belted around his waist. His hair was light brown and chin length, framing an open, friendly face and warm green eyes. “You came swiftly, Jaina, thank you.”  
  
“I am happy to be called on by my friends,” Jaina replied, and walked past the guards to take the arm he offered her. She offered the guards a wave before walking with him inside.  
  
“Thank you for not turning them into sheep,” Bolvar murmured. “The mages just about had fits when I had them disable the anti-teleportation spells.”  
  
“They’re just doing their job,” Jaina replied, and squeezed his arm. “How have you been?”  
  
“Busy,” Bolvar said, as though it covered all of it. “Every day, reports of a new problem come in from one of our provinces, especially Westfall.”  
  
“Rulership is like that,” Jaina pointed out. “It’s not as though my office isn’t bombarded by requests. My staff filters out everything that they can take care of, we delegate. It’s not just about keeping my schedule clear for harder projects, it also provides employment opportunities for the people in Theramore.”  
  
“You certainly took to this quickly,” Bolvar said with a smile, nodding. “Our bureaucratic structure is still something of a mess, but we’re certainly trying. We’re forced to deal with problems as they pass from ‘awful’ to ‘unfathomably critical’, which makes our methods somewhat... haphazard.”  
  
“You were always so organized during your time in Dalaran, I can’t imagine you doing anything haphazardly,” Jaina said as Bolvar led her to his quarters. Sure enough, everything within it was organized to a fault, with nothing out of place. Jaina’s mind returned to the stack of books that was being held up by two more stacks of books in her room and sighed with envy.  
  
“Sadly, being good at housecleaning doesn’t necessarily translate well into politics,” Bolvar said, gesturing for her to sit, which Jaina did. “In fact, this ties in nicely to what I hope to ask of you.”  
  
Jaina nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”  
  
“We’ve discussed the Defias problem at length... it seems to be coming to a new head.” He spread his hands helplessly. “So many have been arrested that there’s been a riot in the Stockade. Our Wardens are only barely containing the problem.”  
  
“I’ve already told you what I think of the fact that there  _is_  a Defias problem,” Jaina said. “What about your mages? I saw Archmage Malin at Golden Spire.”  
  
“Malin is exhausted, we’ve needed to reinforce the Vault, just in case,” Bolvar replied, naming the magical equivalent of the Stockade. “Whatever the Defias were, I know what they are now... a clear and present danger to the people of Stormwind and anyone else who gets in their way. All we need to do is contain the situation, get the Wardens one clear advantage.”  
  
Jaina sat silently, her emotions roiling. She flicked a snowflake away in annoyance, and tried to calm down. Bolvar reached out, taking her hands.  
  
“Please, Jaina, I know that you’re powerful, and I know we share a sense of justice. Help us, we need you.”  
  
“And what does Varian think of all this?” Jaina demanded, a shiver of anger going down her spine, even as Bolvar’s words tugged at her heartstrings.  _That’s damned manipulative of you, Bolvar, and you know it._  
  
“He’s presently in conference with Lady Prestor and the other nobles.” Bolvar met Jaina’s gaze, and she immediately regretted her anger. The Highlord of Stormwind looked tired. “So he thinks very little of it. I’m trying to keep this away from him, considering his past history with the Defias.”  
  
“And Anduin?”  
  
“With his tutors.” Bolvar’s weariness was banished with his smile. “He’s such a bright child. He’ll be nine soon, I can’t believe it.”  
  
“I’d like to meet him someday,” Jaina said lightly. “Very well, I’ll help you.”  
  
“Thank you Jaina, I very much appreciate it, and I hope that I’ll be able to arrange a meeting between the two of you. I think you’ll get along quite well.”  
  
“I hope that we would.” Jaina sighed, and leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “You owe me for this.”  
  
“Of course,” Bolvar replied, kissing hers in return before she stood. “I don’t suppose you need me to show you the way?”  
  
“No, I think I can figure it out. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can.”  
  
“Thank you again,” Bolvar said, and again, Jaina could see his weariness, the way it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “This means a great deal to me.”  
  
_He’s not even forty yet,_  Jaina thought with a pang of guilt. “It’s not really any trouble at all,” she promised. With a thought, arcane magic surrounded her in a swirl, carrying her across Stormwind once again.  
  
~ * ~  
  
The Stockade was dark, as if actively fighting against the threat of illumination. Its corners gathered shadows to them jealously, and despite the wall sconces, their light seemed reluctant to penetrate the darkness. The shadows tasted of something as well... despair. Jaina’s eyes scanned left and right. There was a small camp of Wardens and nurses, the former being treated by the latter. The chief Warden, Thelwater, was sitting on a crate, being treated by a blonde healer who murmured to him softly.  
  
“Warden Thelwater,” Jaina called out, approaching the Azerothian. “My name is Jaina Proudmoore, and I have come to offer my assistance in this matter.”  
  
“Proudmoore..?” Thelwater blinked at her in the gloom. “You’re a long way from home for random philanthropy.”  
  
“A friend asked for my help,” Jaina said. “And so I’m here. What happened?”  
  
“Prison riot.” Thelwater looked weary, reached up to run a hand through his hair, and winced as the motion pulled at the bandages across his bare chest. “We’d been capturing more and more of those Defias, and locked them away to prevent them from victimizing more farmers and townsfolk... and it just hit some kind of critical point. They started a riot and somehow some of them had weapons. We search those men and strip them down, I swear to you. We’re not incompetent. They must have had some kind of inside help, and we just don’t have the resources to deal with this  _and_  protect the Vault. Just like the old days...”  
  
“There are no Death Knights to break into this city, not of that kind, and not right now,” Jaina reassured him. “I can, and will, help. I’m going to head down into the Stockade now. This should be over very quickly.”  
  
“I don’t have many men to go with you, there were quite a few injuries--”  
  
“I don’t need them to go with me, but thank you for your offer.” Jaina smiled at Thelwater’s disbelieving look.  
  
“By yourself, ma’am?”  
  
“They’re only men, Chief Warden.” Jaina flicked her wrist, and held her gun up. Thelwater’s eyes widened. “I’ve faced demons, the undead, naga, and elemental forces. I’m not concerned.” With purpose in her stride, she headed towards the entrance of the Stockade.  
  
Stormwind’s primary jail was actually under ground. This, theoretically, meant the prisoners had fewer places to go, but in practice meant that the Wardens were bottlenecked at the entrance, hiding behind barriers as prisoners pelted them with debris. From behind the barriers, Jaina could see Thelwater had been truthful: the prisoners had been stripped of their possessions for security’s sake, even most of their clothing, leaving them in trousers and thin shirts.. Some of the prisoners had pieces of broken crockery and sharpened utensils, others had trash. Still others had pieces of wood and metal they could use as clubs.  
  
A half-dozen exhausted-looking Wardens were crouched behind the barriers, wielding batons of their own, and two had long-barrelled rifles with which they menaced the crowd. Reading the faces of the prisoners, Jaina could all but hear the thoughts sprouting from beneath furrowed brows and hostile glares:  
  
“Go ahead and shoot. You will get some of us but not all of us, and we will be on you in moments. Then who will stop us from killing your friends upstairs?”  
  
_I will,_  Jaina thought grimly, and strode forward.  _My teacher always taught me that making an entrance is crucial, so make one I shall._  With a thought, she summoned a small, isolated snowstorm about her, whipping in a localized, arcane wind. It threw back her hair and adorned it with snowflakes. She kept her gun concealed in her right hand, and carried her staff in her left hand, the blue crystal that topped it glowing brightly.  
  
The gasps of surprise and no little fear from the prisoners were gratifying. The fact that the Wardens had a similar reaction made Jaina’s heart clench painfully. “My name is Archmage Jaina Proudmoore of the nation of Theramore. You are presently in violation of your sentencing. You have one chance. Stand down, and your sentence will not be lengthened.”  
  
Her words echoed through the hallway, and some of the prisoners began to whisper amongst themselves anxiously. One of them, a man with a grim scar across his cheek, sneered at her.  
  
“Mage or not, you’re only one person. You and what army?”  
  
“This army,” Jaina replied, and her eyes narrowed. The snowflakes, whipping more or less harmlessly past her, launched themselves at the closest prisoners, striking them in the chest and knocking them flat. As the first group toppled over, the scarred man let out a wordless yell, and a dozen prisoners charged over them.  
  
“You can’t stop us all!”  
  
“Can’t I?” Jaina asked, and raised her gun. She wove an enchantment around its bullets swiftly, and fired. The shot split into three, each a round that stunned its target. She swept across the prisoners, firing and stunning with grim efficiency. More fell, making it difficult for the other prisoners to get past her, but the scarred man did.  
  
“You won’t kill helpless prisoners,” he said, advancing with a jagged piece of metal. “That’s why you’re weak. That’s why you-- baa!”  
  
Jaina gave the man-sheep a reproving look. “Mercy does not make one weak. Bragging does.” She looked around at those still conscious. “Does anyone else want to try me?”  
  
No gaze would meet hers, and the prisoners seemed to find the walls particularly fascinating.  
  
“Wardens,” Jaina called out, and shook some snowflakes off of her sleeves. “I believe you know what to do. I’ll do a sweep to make sure there are no troublemakers in hiding.”  
  
“Thank you,” one of the Wardens whispered, looking rather shaky himself. “We’ll arrest these, ah, people.” He glanced at the sheeped man. “That’s Bazil Thredd... it took a dozen Wardens to bring him in. One of VanCleef’s worst lieutenants.”  
  
“Well, his name is Mutton now,” Jaina said, trying to ease their fears. The Warden managed a weak smile, and then scurried off to collect up the still-conscious prisoners. Jaina sighed softly.  _I’ve forgotten what the rest of the world is like._  
  
Jaina led with her gun, sweeping it across the first cell, then looking in. Her triumph felt hollow. In Dalaran, such shows of power would be evaluated and graded. In Theramore, while her enemies feared her, her people loved her. They had seen the extent of her powers, and had observed her very best, along with her very worst, the exhaustion and vulnerability that went along with the magic she wielded. In Durotar...  _The Horde doesn’t fear my power. They respect it and cheer me on. They know that where I am, Thrall cannot possibly be that far away._  Briefly, she smiled, and let the image of Thrall’s warm expression and kind eyes fill her mind.  _You’d think that people would be used to the mages here... or perhaps they are, and it’s that I’m a stranger that troubles them. An outsider, like Medivh._  
  
It was within recent history that the name Medivh, for the people of Azeroth as a whole, but Stormwind in particular, was synonymous with betrayal. As far as the people of Azeroth knew, Medivh had bargained with the orcs, perhaps for power, perhaps for some other purpose, but he had brought the invaders to Azeroth, and they had suffered. Medivh was dead and gone, the invasion initially successful but ultimately failing, and Stormwind was whole once again. Still, they feared and resented Medivh’s legacy.  
  
_They don’t know the truth,_  Jaina thought as she continued to sweep the cells. Most were empty, but a few had prisoners that had not dared move, either through self-interest or a genuine desire not to cause trouble. She nodded to them, indicating for them to stay put.  _Medivh wouldn’t have betrayed Llane by his own free will... because he didn’t. Sargeras did. Medivh was simply along for the ride._  Jaina ducked her head into one of the cells, spotting someone who, at first, seemed like an ordinary man, though a remarkably well-dressed one for prison: he wore red and white robes, and a cowl that did not quite conceal sandy brown hair and a rather admirable mustache, if one liked such things.  
  
The man looked up, and studied her, curious. “I expected to be found sooner, and by someone else.”  
  
“And I did not expect to find such a prisoner in with the bandits and brigands,” Jaina replied, her fingers twitching slightly against her gun’s trigger. Magic. She had been surrounded by it for over half her life, and she could feel it here, where it didn’t rightly belong. “Though I hope you have a good explanation as to what what of your kind is doing here.”  
  
“And what is it that you think my kind is?”  
  
Jaina smiled. “Dragon.”  
  
~ * ~  
  
As she threaded her way through the crowd of Wardens and subdued prisoners, Jaina couldn’t help but smile. The atmosphere of despair had given way to one of hope. The Wardens, having been granted control of the situation once more, were interviewing prisoners. Jaina focused on one interview for a moment, noting the slightly exasperated Warden.  
  
“What is your relationship to Bazil Thredd?” asked the Warden, naming the man that Jaina had polymorphed.  
  
“The who now?” the young woman asked, her face twisted in an ugly scowl. The Warden frowned.  
  
“You know, he’s the highest ranking prisoner we have!”  
  
“I turned him into a sheep,” Jaina said helpfully, and both prisoner and Warden winced.  
  
“Guess he’s my neighbour, from three cells down,” the woman said, uncomfortable. “Don’t know him otherwise.”  
  
“Come, now, you have to know him,” the Warden chided. “A close-knit organization like the Defias...”  
  
“Then it’s more like a great doily, because I don’t know what you mean,” the prisoner replied. Jaina frowned thoughtfully.  
  
_I suppose it’s possible, but... it’s still odd. Considering that the Defias were once the Stonemason’s guild, and it hasn’t been all that long since they were formed..._  Jaina shook her head, suddenly.  _I’ll have time to go off on a tangent later._  She moved on from the interviews, and went to speak to Thelwater.  
  
The Chief Warden was flushed with pleasure, and he offered his hand to Jaina immediately. He shook her hand heartily, wincing a bit as the motion pulled at his bandaged chest. “You’re a lifesaver, Ms. Proudmoore, you really are. Never seen the prisoners so docile before. Normally they’re the most Azerothian of Azerothians--” He blinked, and hastily added, “Azerothians are known for--”  
  
“Their fierce independence and warrior spirit, I know.” Jaina smiled gently. “I’m familiar with the idea. I’m Tiran.”  
  
“Right,” Thelwater said, and Jaina watched as he made the connection, his eyes widening. “Got that. Thank you.”  
  
“In any case, I was happy to help,” Jaina said, hoping to spare him some amount of embarrassment. “Though there is one thing I require.”  
  
“Anything, Ms. -- Lady -- Proudmoore.”  
  
“I’d like to interview this prisoner personally.” Jaina gestured to the man just behind her, bound in arcane chains.  
  
Thelwater blinked, and then nodded quickly. “Of course, whatever you need with him. Don’t entirely recall that one, but...”  
  
“He’s... unusual, but I’ll handle it. Thank you, Chief Warden. Go well.”  
  
“Light bless, Lady Proudmoore.”  
  
Jaina nodded to him politely, and gestured for the chained man to follow, which he did, largely because the arcane chains demanded it. Glancing around, Jaina found a spare room -- which might have also been a broom closet -- to which she could bring her prisoner.  
  
Another flick of her finger directed the cowled man to sit down, and the chains unraveled, then disappeared. The man -- dragon -- pulled his cowl down, and Jaina could see that his features were pleasant and open, his cheeks rounded, as if used to smiling. He wasn’t smiling now, though. He looked worried.  
  
“So, I’m just going to get this out of the way now,” Jaina began, seating herself on a box of building supplies, so old that they were still stamped with the crest of the Stonemason’s Guild.  
  
“Very well,” the dragon-man said, quiet but resigned.  
  
“What’s a dragon like you doing in a prison like this?”  
  
The man laughed, startled. “Not quite what I expected.”  
  
“How often will I get to ask such a question?” Jaina returned, and contemplated him. “Do you know Archmage Krasus Goldenmist?”  
  
He blinked. “I do know that name, why--”  
  
“Which dragonflight was he from? Was it blue?”  
  
“How did you..?”  
  
“There was a running bet amongst Dalaran’s students, started by an old friend. I bet blue, Kael bet bronze.”  
  
“Krasus was Korialstrasz’s alias, and he, like myself, is a red dragon. My name is Vaelan, by the way. Or Vaelastrasz.”  
  
“Unfortunate, I think that pot went to Noah, in that case.”  
  
“I don’t know that you’re taking this seriously, Ms. Proudmoore,” Vaelan pointed out with a frown.  
  
Jaina smiled, and Vaelan sat back, just a little. “Lady Proudmoore or Archmage Proudmoore, if you please. I am taking this incredibly seriously. I’ve studied the history of the dragonflights in relation to the Guardians of Tirisfal and I had... something of a run-in with a dragon trying to rally malcontents from my city. Now you’re here, surrounded by malcontents, and they’re stirring up trouble in this city that is matched only by the Stockade Riots. I am using levity briefly before I ask you what you’re doing here and why I shouldn’t report you to the Highlord of Stormwind, whose family earned the right to wear a dragon on their coat of arms in a very specific way.”  
  
“Put that way, it does seem like a trend, but I assure you that none of this was my doing. You’re right though, there  _are_  dragons near Stormwind... Blackrock Spire, to be precise.”  
  
“You’ll have a hard time monitoring the Spire from inside a jail cell.”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to get arrested.” Vaelan sighed. “Someone turned me in, I believe. I didn’t want to cause trouble or reveal myself, so I allowed them to take me in.”  
  
Jaina nodded thoughtfully. “Did you find anything?”  
  
“Nothing that you couldn’t have figured out on your own,” Vaelan replied. “Blackrock Mountain is a mess from top to bottom and back again.”  
  
“Dark Iron Mountain has long been the refuge of the enemies of Ironforge,” Jaina began, thinking. “Thaurissan’s clan. That’s where Ragnaros is hiding.”  
  
“He would call it amassing power and waiting for the right moment to strike, no doubt,” Vaelan said dryly. “There also remains portions of the Horde within the upper levels of the mountain.”  
  
“No Horde of ours, I assure you,” Jaina said sharply. “The orcs that went to Kalimdor are the new Horde.”  
  
“Then these are the orcs -- and trolls, and ogres -- of the Old Horde,” Vaelan replied. “Under the command of Rend Blackhand, son of Blackhand the Destroyer. We... keep tabs on the remaining orcs in the Eastern Kingdoms. For our own sake.”  
  
Jaina closed her eyes briefly, imagining her father’s stricken face. “I can certainly understand why.”  
  
“Many of my kind would see them destroyed for caution’s sake, but calmer heads have prevailed... but there is a greater threat within Blackrock Mountain. Rend does not act of his own initiative. He is being handled by Nefarian, one of the Black Dragonflight. I’m sure I don’t need to ask if you’ve heard of them.”  
  
“Most only see their lesser spawn, but they know the secrets of the deep earth, and were corrupt even before Aegwynn called on the dragons to help protect Azeroth.”  
  
“Indeed,” Vaelan agreed. “Nefarian is... dangerous, intelligent, and powerful, but there’s more to it than that. He is a scientist, of a kind. He experiments. All of the uncorrupted dragonflights have reported missing members, and my initial scouting indicated that those who disappeared were taken to Blackwing Lair, his domain. Obviously, we need more information to be sure.”  
  
“Obviously,” Jaina murmured, her thoughts racing. “So what are your plans now?”  
  
“I must return to Blackrock Spire and discover what Nefarian is planning,” Vaelan said, watching her expression. “Though there is a nearly unrelated matter that concerns me.”  
  
“Your arrest, presumably,” Jaina said. “If you weren’t engaging in illegal activities, and you weren’t stirring up trouble here, then logically someone deliberately accused you falsely.”  
  
“Exactly. I would like to know why this happened, and if they can endanger others of my kind that are deep in cover. If they have some kind of source, a method of detection for my kind...”  
  
“I suppose pointing out that I spotted you immediately isn’t comforting, is it?” Jaina asked, and Vaelan actually smiled.  
  
“It is a rare thing to find someone who could spot it, actually. While you and your friends had running bets regarding Krasus Goldenmist’s identity, he was able to pass for several hundred years without comment, even from the Archmages of the Kirin Tor, though he is more subtle than I. You’ve also been exposed to draconic magic before. I also don’t feel that I’m in any danger from you.”  
  
Jaina raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”  
  
“Not to me. I believe you’re a very dangerous woman to your enemies, but I am not one of them.” Vaelan leaned forward a little, meeting Jaina’s gaze with his own, sincere one. “My flight only seeks to help the people of this world.”  
  
_Altruism, my only weakness... how did he know?_  Jaina sighed. “All I’m really obliged to do is let you go, and tell Highlord Fordragon that there was a mistaken arrest, but...”  
  
“But that’s not what you  _want_  to do, is it?” Vaelan asked. “Your name is known, mentioned. You were Antonidas’ prized apprentice, his heir--”  
  
“Not after my engagement,” Jaina said flatly. “And there’s nothing to inherit now.”  
  
“Nonetheless, your curiosity was valued and prized, and it’s piqued now. You want to know how this could have happened, where the leak is. You want to know if that’s related to another incident with the Defias. You want to  _know_. You remind me of the blues, always seeking knowledge. You want to be involved.”  
  
Jaina looked him over, searching for any hint of mockery, then nodded. “I do. I sympathize with all the Stonemasons have been through, but I also have an interest to protect not the crown, but the people of Azeroth. Varian and I don’t get along particularly well, but that doesn’t mean I can let those who live here suffer in good conscience. What do you need me to do?”  
  
“I need to return to Blackrock Spire, so if you could look into the Defias...”  
  
“I can do that,” Jaina agreed. “I know they have goblin contacts, and I think I know who to ask about how to get in. It just might take a little convincing on my part.”  
  
“Anything you can do, of course,” Vaelan agreed. “I must be going, if you’ll allow.”  
  
“Of course... how shall I contact you?” Jaina asked as Vaelan stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his neck.  
  
“I’ll find you, I promise.”  
  
“Well, that’s always encouraging,” Jaina said, amused, but nodded to him. “Very well. Let’s get you out of here.”  
  
“I promise, I can walk out of here on my own,” Vaelan assured her, and Jaina smiled.  
  
“Oh, I’m sure you can, but wouldn’t it be better to inform the Wardens so they don’t try to arrest you again?”  
  
“Fair point,” the dragon admitted, and bowed. “After you, my Lady.”


	2. Chapter 2: Early Autumn, Year 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 19th, 2013 on LiveJournal.

“This is embarrassing and unfortunate,” Bolvar said, looking decidedly sheepish. The Highlord of Stormwind was a large man, tall and broad, though he reminded Jaina more of Thrall than Arthas. Perhaps it was something in the way he smiled, and tried to make himself seem more unobtrusive.  
  
_Or perhaps it’s that lack of arrogance,_  Jaina thought idly, pushing away thoughts of black, green, and gold. “It is, but it gives us an opportunity. Consider, if you will, the possibility that there is more to the Defias Brotherhood than meets the eye. If there is, that could be the key to putting down unrest here. I just need to investigate.”  
  
“I suppose telling you that you don’t need to do this for us, that we have our own sources to look into things won’t help, will it?” Bolvar asked, and Jaina smiled up at him.  
  
“I do love a mystery,” Jaina said. “It’s gotten me into trouble before... but also netted me a great many valuable experiences, and this  _will_  help. I know it.”  
  
“I’m grateful, then,” Bolvar said, and hesitated. “I know there are... other places you’d rather be right now.”  
  
_I shouldn’t be entirely surprised that he’s heard. I wonder if Varian knows?_  “I’ve always made it a personal goal to help as many people as possible and this is no different. Kalimdor will keep for now. Everyone’s an adult who can look after themselves.”  
  
“Of course,” Bolvar agreed easily, and offered her a courtly bow. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”  
  
“There is, actually,” Jaina said, and grinned mischievously. “I don’t suppose you can get me a change of clothes and a box of nice cigars?”  
  
~ * ~  
  
Jaina inhaled deeply. To many, one harbour smelled much like another: of fish, of ships, of salt. To Jaina, who had spent much of her life, one way or another, in port towns, each one had a unique smell. Theramore smelled primarily of fish, strongly dependent on its fishing fleets. It was small, yet, and so new that one could still smell the fresh paint and rope wax if they put their minds to it. Boralus Harbour, overlooked by Boralus Keep, in Kul Tiras smelled of gunpowder and the wax on a ship’s sails. It was busy constantly, the merchant fleets very old and well established, and the navy just as old and just as well trained. Orgrimmar’s harbour actually smelled more of oil as the goblin ships they used tended to be a great deal dirtier than Tiran warships or sleek Theran cruisers. Stormwind’s tended to smell of fruit, imported from Stranglethorn and the South Seas. This harbour, however, didn’t smell like any of those things.  
  
Booty Bay’s harbour smelled of profit. Profit smelled like oil and tar. Profit smelled like large loads of cargo, questionably obtained, being offloaded in a hurry. Profit smelled like sailors, who worked hard, drank hard, and partied harder. Profit smelled like the people who made money from those sailors: the bartenders, the wenches, the gambling dens. Profit smelled like the Bruisers, goblins armed with truncheons and shotguns, prepared to deal with troublemakers and empty their pockets for their troubles.  
  
Archmages of the Kirin Tor and Theramore League did not simply walk into Booty Bay. Neither did daughters of ancient and noble houses. Fortunately, Jaina knew how to be something other than those two things, as her identity fanned itself out, and she selected a particular card to play.  
  
Jaina was clad in brown leather breeches, adorned with a handful of silver buckles and matching boots. Her shirt was long-sleeved and blue, and cut just low enough to fit in, though not enough to draw attention. She wore a blue vest on top of it, with two silver buttons that fastened it at her waist. With some amount of haste, an aqua anchor had been embroidered into the left breast pocket. With luck, that would be enough. Jaina had made adjustments to the shoulder harness she was wearing, and with a flick of her wrist and a touch of magic, her gun would be in her hand. At her waist, sitting in a sword sheath, was a wand. She missed her staff, but a wand in a sheath looked closer to a short sword or a dagger, which was the general idea.  
  
_I think I confused Bolvar just a bit with all of this,_  Jaina thought, checking the box of cigars that was tucked into her vest.  _It’s a Proudmoore thing. It’s also a Booty Bay thing--_  
  
Jaina’s gun was in her hand in a moment, and she pressed the muzzle against the back of the sailor that brushed against her. “Hands off that, if you please.”  
  
“You startin’ somethin’, lady?” the sailor asked. He was head and shoulders taller than she was, nut-brown and broad. He gave her a dark-toothed grin.  
  
Jaina cocked the hammer back, and jabbed him with it. “No, but I’ll end it. I’m here to see The Boss.”  
  
The sailor’s eyes widened, and he backed away from her. “Didn’t know... you ain’t a goblin.”  
  
“ _Not all goblins have green skin,_ ” she said in Kezanite, and smirked before continuing on her way. “Pleasant day to you.”  
  
It took confidence to walk the multi-tiered streets of Booty Bay. It was deliberately designed to be maze-like, with ramps leading from very top of the city to the lowest layers that threatened to dump passers-by into the harbour itself. If you hesitated, if you looked confused or lost, predators would come for you. They’d herd you into the darkest corners of the city and strip you for all you had. Only a fool would come here with no escort if they were inexperienced, and having an escort meant you knew someone in the city itself.  
  
Jaina needed no such escort. She flicked her eyes along the ramps briefly, and strode right towards the Salty Sailor Tavern, and headed in the door. It was the middle of the afternoon, but the bar was well over half full. Sailors of virtually every race were sitting at tables, drinking, dicing, and hoping to catch the eye of a friendly bar wench. Few gave her more than a moment’s look even as she slid up to the bar.  
  
“I want to go upstairs,” Jaina said simply to the bartender. The dwarf looked at her, plainly unbelieving.  
  
“Plenty want to, why should ye?” he asked gruffly, polishing one of the mugs. Jaina tapped the embroidered symbol on her pocket and he snorted. “It’s an anchor, girlie. Anyone can put one there.”  
  
“True, but not here.” She slid her gun across the bar to him, and pointed to the bottom of the handle. His eyes widened.  
  
“Ain’t ye supposed to be in--”  
  
“I go where I please,” Jaina interrupted smoothly, scooping her gun back up. “And where it pleases me to go is upstairs.”  
  
“Go right on in,” the dwarf muttered. Jaina nodded to him, slid him a coin, and went upstairs. Several of the sailors watched her go, curious now. Jaina gave them a jaunty wave and went upstairs. This tavern had once been a ship and it showed: the structure was that of a vessel cut in half, and roughly constructed into an inn. Jaina could still smell the brine, the tar, and the wood. She smiled.  
  
_Almost as good as going home,_  she thought, though ‘home’ was mixed between her beloved Theramore and Thrall’s quarters in Grommash Hold. She smiled at the thought, even as she passed people moving between rooms. They snorted, and she ignored them.  
  
‘Upstairs’ was not merely the second, or even third, floor of the tavern. It was a very specific area, once the observation deck of a fine ship. Now, it was the home of one Baron Revilgaz, ruler of Booty Bay, and high ranking affiliate of the Steamwheedle Cartel.  
  
_And blackmailer, and smuggler, and two steps shy of a pirate,_  Jaina reflected with fondness.  _Not to mention information broker._  She knocked on the door.  
  
“Richie?!” called a voice. It was pitched higher than a human male’s voice, but there was no mistaking the age behind it. "Are those the drinks?"  
  
Jaina beamed.  _It's so good to hear his voice again._  She drew back her foot and kicked the door open. Inside the room was a middle-aged goblin, dressed in blue cotton trousers, a wide-sleeved white shirt and a black vest with a double-row of gem-studded buttons that matched the larger, gaudier gems that adorned his wide belt. Standing next to him was a tall, broad tauren, Grimtotem-dark, wearing brown trousers and a loose cream shirt, a pirate hat balanced precariously between his wicked, sharp horns. Both looked startled, though Jaina could see a flicker of admiration on the goblin's face. The goblin, it seemed, had been speaking to a human man. He was dark-skinned, with caramel-brown hair and piercing black eyes. Jaina nodded briefly to him, and pointed her gun at the goblin.  
  
Immediately, the goblin drew a grenade from his pocket, and Jaina noted the detonator had an automatic sparker. He'd only need one hand. Seahorn drew a musket, and pointed it squarely at Jaina, while the dark-skinned man drew long knives, one pointed at the goblin and the other pointed at Jaina. She smiled.  
  
"You're one short, blondie," the goblin barked, extending his thumb. "End of the line."  
  
"No, you're just not paying attention," Jaina replied, and drew the wand at her waist, and it began to glow with bright blue magic. "You shouldn't take your eyes off a mage's other hand."  
  
"No indeed," the goblin said, and slowly lowered the grenade, and nodded to the tauren, who slowly lowered his shotgun. The dark-skinned man nodded to her, and lowered his weapons.  
  
When they stood down, Jaina tucked the wand back into its sheath, and then lowered her hand, and the gun disappeared back into her sleeve.  
  
"Hello, Sunfish, it's been a long time. Good to see you."  
  
Jaina beamed. "It's good to see you too, Uncle Revilgaz." She strode forward and hugged him tightly, mindful of his pockets full of explosives. His hug in return was firm. "It's been a long time."  
  
"I was thinking it'd be at your wedding the next time I saw you," he said, patting her hair. "I'm sorry about all of that. Hell of a mess."  
  
"It was," Jaina said softly, sighing. "One hell of a mess." She withdrew a little. "How has business been?"  
  
"Interesting," he said, and patted the chair beside him. Jaina sat obediently, and the dark-skinned man found a different seat, his expression tinged with amusement. "We're dealing with the Horde again. A new Horde. One that builds cities instead of burning them down."  
  
"Gazlowe has done a fine job," Jaina agreed. "And Ratchet is prospering considerably. I remember Kalimdor was the sucker's bet originally."  
  
"Considering more than half the world at the time would say 'Kala-what?' when they heard of it, yeah." Revilgaz grinned. "But now there's all kinds of trade there. Not just Orgrimmar, but also Theramore and even the elves have warmed up to us. Not to mention the tauren." He nodded to his companion, and she nodded back.  
  
"Fleet Master Seahorn."  
  
"Sunfish," the tauren replied, his voice deep and powerful. "I have heard you are sworn to the tribes now."  
  
"Yes, Cairne Bloodhoof is my brother," Jaina replied, smiling warmly. "We stood at Hyjal together. He is kind and noble."  
  
"Magatha thinks he's blaspheming against the will of the Earthmother by having the tauren settle. That we are stronger because of our adversity."  
  
"People are strong  _despite_  adversity, not because of it," Jaina said, gently but firmly. "We are thankful that we survived a time of suffering, we do not invite it. Only those who are cruel revel in the suffering of others, and the masochistic in their own suffering. I'm certain the Earthmother didn't intend for tauren to be sailors, either."  
  
Seahorn chuckled, and held up his hands. "I see why Revilgaz is so fond of you."  
  
"The words of an idealist," said the dark-skinned man. "A dangerous occupation with orcs on your border."  
  
"Someone less than an idealist wouldn't keep politely kicking your agents out of Theramore after they are found, Master Shaw," Jaina said, raising an eyebrow. "And what is the leader of SI:7 doing cozening up to one of the leaders of the Blackwater Raiders?"  
  
"At least one is still in place," Shaw murmured, acknowledging her other points. "Not that--"  
  
"Leona Whitecastle is married to the brother of my Chamberlain, and it would be rude to remove her from her family," Jaina said dryly, and Shaw's eyes widened.  
  
"She didn't tell me she was  _married_."  
  
"Perhaps you should have better intelligence," Jaina said. "I believe I know why you're here, and I think our reasons align. Uncle Revilgaz, I've come to talk to you about something very serious and important."  
  
Revilgaz sighed. "So do we all. We were waiting for drinks... you didn't knock out Richie, did you?"  
  
"No, Uncle Revilgaz," Jaina replied, laughing. "I know better than to mess with a goblin's alcohol. Or his explosives."  
  
"Good girl," Revilgaz said approvingly. "But that means Richie is slow. Richie--!!"  
  
There was a knock on the door. Jaina shifted subtly, and Revilgaz called out to him. When the door opened, and was not kicked in, Jaina could see the tray poke in first, followed by a slender young man dressed in a low-cut buccaneer's shirt and a scandalously short pair of shorts. Superficially, he seemed wholly elven, but Jaina's experience told her how to look for a specific roundness of the young man's eyes, and the way his ears were an inch shorter than a full elf's. A pair of amber eyes met Jaina's, and he set his jaw, daring her to make something of it.  
  
"My sister is Shano'dorei," Jaina said quietly, and gave him an encouraging smile. He smiled back, looking relieved.  
  
"Me mam was Blackwater," he said, a Dwarven lilt to his voice, reminding her of the bartender. "Dropped me here and dinnae look back."  
  
"My condolences, but this place is good to those who know it," Jaina said. "Two, please. Don't be stingy."  
  
Richie grinned, and poured two shots of a steaming liquid into a pair of crystal-cut glasses. "It takes a brave soul ta double drop Kezan Fireball, miss."  
  
"I usually think of myself as an ice person, but this is a kind of fire I appreciate." Once the drinks were poured -- Seahorn and Revilgaz had lowball tumblers instead of shot glasses -- Jaina toasted the others and threw back the first shot. It burned on the way down, making her feel sharp and alert.  _What was it I told Tandred? It’s like a slap in the face that you asked for, and thanked them for it afterwards._  She took the second shot glass and drank it back with equal speed. Instead of burning, this one felt like warm hands running down the inside of her throat and cupping her stomach, and reminded her more than a little of Thrall.  
  
“Your ears are smoking,” Shaw murmured, shaking his head a little as he set his sole shot glass down.  
  
“Unlikely,” Jaina said. “Kezan Fireball is nothing... you should try my grandmother’s favourite drink. She says it’s like being hit in the head with a brick wrapped in lemon.” She stretched a little, and settled into her chair, watching as her ‘Uncle’ and his first officer took more time to savour their drinks. “I’ve come here to talk to you about Edwin VanCleef.”  
  
Revilgaz sputtered and choked. “Don’t exactly beat around the bush, do you? They teach you that in Dalaran?”  
  
“Let’s just say I’ve learned there are many different ways to start a negotiation,” Jaina said smoothly. There was a flicker of surprise on Shaw’s face, and Jaina made note of it. “I decided the straightforward approach suited us in this case. I have come across something of a conundrum.”  
  
“Conundrum is a good word,” Seahorn rumbled. “Though not as good as defenestrate.”  
  
“No indeed,” Jaina agreed. “The situation starts with the fact that there was very recently a prison riot in Stormwind. The prisoners, primarily Defias, managed to get ahold of weapons and started causing trouble. It’s been taken care of, but what we learned during it was troubling.”  
  
“I’m not certain you should be discussing this with others,” Shaw pointed out. Jaina raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I’m relatively certain that you were getting around to doing the same thing when I got here,” Jaina replied. “Two things of significance happened . The first, a man was accused of working for the Defias and detained. He was in the area on another task and his arrest prevented him from completing it. He’s been freed, but we both believe that someone ratted him out. The second is that while I was listening to a Warden interview one of the prisoners, she did not seem to know one of the other high profile prisoners. It wouldn’t be unusual if it weren’t for the fact that the Defias Brotherhood were once the Stonemason’s Guild, and were all personally acquainted with one another.”  
  
“She could have simply been a new recruit,” Shaw pointed out. “But...”  
  
“But the numbers don’t add up, do they?” Jaina pressed. “Especially not considering the Defias activity in Kalimdor, which only makes sense if you ignore their motivations.”  
  
“Wha’ do they want?” Richie asked, curious.  
  
“Revenge on Varian and Stormwind’s army,” Jaina said. “They’re angry that they weren’t paid for their work rebuilding Stormwind. Their goal is to take their pay from Varian one way or another, which is why it makes sense that they raid army shipments or a noble’s estate, but don’t attack farmers in Westfall.”  
  
“...and anyone can put on a red mask,” Shaw murmured. “So what do we do about it?”  
  
“That is a thing that I need to discuss with Edwin himself,” Jaina replied. “I need more information to fill in the puzzle. I have long suspected that he has goblin contacts... and that you’re one of them, Uncle.”  
  
“Hrm,” Revilgaz said.  
  
“Hrm?” Seahorn questioned. Jaina raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Hrm,” Revilgaz agreed. “Sunfish, you’re askin’ me to go against policy. That kinda information is private. I’m not even supposed to confirm or deny if they exist.”  
  
“I know that you can’t, but I also know that you value your neutrality heavily. That’s why you keep it quiet that the Steamwheedle are so active in Kalimdor and are helping the Horde on contract. You don’t want to anger the Alliance, who still recall that the Steamwheedle provided the Horde with munitions during the Second War.” Jaina sat forward a little, giving Revilgaz an earnest look. “If the Defias are being used by someone, this will help them and make your own contracts more secure.”  
  
“Hrm,” Revilgaz said again. “Alright. VanCleef does have goblin contacts... he gets his building contracts through Booty Bay from clients who wish to remain nameless.” He looked between Jaina and Shaw. Shaw nodded slightly.  
  
“That’s fine,” Jaina assured him. “Go on.”  
  
Revilgaz sighed, and ran a hand over his bald head. “You know that town of Moonbrook? In the rougher part of Westfall, it’s pretty run-down from all the trouble. The drought and all. There’s a big ol’ barn, it leads into the Deadmines.”  
  
“Ah, the Deadmines,” Shaw said. “Where the great Lothar found that tome for Archbishop Faol, the one that would become the cornerstone for the Silver Hand.”  
  
“The same,” Revilgaz agreed. “It’s had ogres livin’ in it, slimes, orcs... and now the Defias Brotherhood. It’s a maze, though, a damned mess.”  
  
“Then I’ll need a map, won’t I?” Jaina said. “Perhaps from someone who has an up to date one?”  
  
“I’ll get it for ya, I’ll have it dug out of the vaults,” Revilgaz grumbled, and Jaina leaned forward, kissing the top of his head. “Ya done grown up, Sunfish. Give me a little time. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy a Janeiro special.”  
  
“You’re too kind, Uncle,” Jaina said. “Thank you.”  
  
The matter settled, Revilgaz and Seahorn left to retrieve the map, and Richie cleared away the glasses. Shaw watched him go, and shook his head.  
  
“I can’t believe Camden lets him walk around in that outfit,” Shaw said. “It’s so...”  
  
“Short?” Jaina suggested. “This is the kind of place where people get stabbed if they make the wrong move towards an employee. Probably by the employee in question.”  
  
“Still,” Shaw groused. “Where does he keep those Janeiros? I feel the need for a smoke.”  
  
“Left hand drawer of his desk, second one down,” Jaina said, watching him closely as he went to retrieve them.  
  
“Care for one?” Shaw asked, and Jaina nodded. She watched as dextrous fingers picked up a pair of cigars, felt them lightly, and set them down to slice off the cap ends carefully. He handed Jaina one, and took the other for himself. He reached for a match, but Jaina held up her hand. Between the tips of two fingers, she conjured a small, intense flame, burning blue-hot.  
  
“I didn’t think that you were a fire person,” Shaw remarked as Jaina spread the flame evenly along the cut edge of his cigar, then performed the same, careful ritual for herself.  
  
“I’m not, fire has always been one of my weakest disciplines, but I considered this as incentive to learn... it would bring shame to my ancestors to ruin a fine cigar with careless magic.” Once the cigar was lit and the fire dismissed, Jaina put one end in her mouth and drew in slowly, letting the smoke roll around in her mouth like a delicacy. She moved out to the balcony of Revilgaz’ private office, and looked up at the sky as the stars winked in slowly.  
  
“That’s what you think would shame your ancestors?” Shaw asked sharply, and followed her out. Jaina took a few moments to answer, exhaling slowly through her nose.  
  
_Like a dragon,_  she reflected, and it almost made her smile. She looked over at Shaw. “Go ahead and ask me, I suspect you want to.”  
  
“Why did you do it?” he asked quietly but intensely, and Jaina could feel the emotion behind it, the accusation. It was not new to her. She inhaled again, appreciating the earthy taste of the cigar. “Why did you side with the Horde instead of your own kin? Your own flesh and blood.”  
  
Jaina sighed out the smoke, and held her cigar carefully, examining the evenness of the burn. “The way I see it, I was doing what they’d always wanted me to do. My father told me that when you made promises, you have to keep them. He knew that I was going to be important. Archmage of the Kirin Tor, Queen of Lordaeron... Pirate-Queen of the South Seas... I wasn’t going to stay at home and be someone’s lighthouse. So he taught me about a sense of personal responsibility.”  
  
Shaw exhaled, and frowned. “Surely he didn’t mean in the face of this...”  
  
Jaina drew in another mouthful, and with her exhalation, said, “Isn’t this the most important time to keep one’s word? Thrall and I stood side by side against the Burning Legion. I’m not sure what was happening here, but in Kalimdor, the world was ending. Lordaeron, Dalaran, and Quel’thalas had fallen. The sky was on fire with the infernals called in by Archimonde and his host of demons. We had one chance and we took it.” She tapped the cigar gently against the rail of the balcony, letting the ash fall with the wind. “Don’t get me wrong, the first time I met the orcs in Kalimdor, they were doing their best to kill me. We were heading towards the same goal and we didn’t know it. We were even sent by the same person.”  
  
“After--”  
  
“After Hyjal it was even more important that we worked together. It wasn’t just necessity, it was bond. I’d always thought that business about building meaningful relationships on a battlefield to be nonsense, but it felt true in many ways. It might also have been that I couldn’t bear to fight people who’d been such important allies just days ago. We started building new lives in concert. Together, but independent. I was there when they broke ground in Durotar for Orgrimmar. Thrall was there when we stabilized the ground to start building my tower in Theramore. We had a connection.”  
  
“Oh yes, I’ve heard rumours about your ‘connection’ with the orcs,” Shaw said. He drew sharply on his cigar and then winced.  
  
“Don’t ruin a good cigar with bitterness,” Jaina said, and noted between mouthfuls of smoke that the taste had changed to something a bit more nutty. “Thrall and I are lovers now, but we weren’t when my father came to find me. We were allies, and under the foolish assumption that nothing bad could happen to us.”  
  
“He came looking for you,” Shaw reminded her. “He was worried.”  
  
“Funny how most of that worry evaporated when he spotted enough green skin,” Jaina said, and it was her turn to draw too hard. “I tried to convince him that Thrall’s Horde was not the Horde he fought. It was not the Horde that killed my brother, and Lothar, and so many others. He refused to believe me and called me naive. As if I’ve ever been naive in my life.”  
  
“Haven’t you?”  
  
“No,” Jaina said, watching eyes on the glowing red ring below the ash of her cigar. “I’ve been bitter, cynical, hopeful, and exhausted, but I have never been so naive that I walked into a trap. I know when to walk away.”  
  
“But not from your agreement with the Horde.”  
  
“No,” she said again, and took her time with the next mouthful of smoke. “I made a promise. We both did. I intended to keep it and so did he. It was incredibly painful to watch my father die, and more so because he was dying for his own stubbornness. For his refusal to see that the world was changing.”  
  
“If Thrall betrays you? What will he have died for then?”  
  
“Thrall will never betray me, and we both make sure that there are no misunderstandings, no chances that this will happen again. That was our promise, our vow. It is more valuable than our relationship.”  
  
“You’re being sentimental,” Shaw said, flicking the tip of his cigar lightly. Jaina smiled.  
  
“The way you are about VanCleef?”  
  
Shaw choked. “What did you--”  
  
“That’s why you’re here. For him. You want to know what’s going on. You want to know why it’s gotten this far. You’re loyal to Varian but you’re concerned about his sanity.” Jaina smiled, sadly and a little bitterly. “Trust me, I know the sentiment.”  
  
Shaw was silent for a time, drawing in and exhaling smoke slowly, deeply. Finally, he nodded to himself. “Do you know how SI:7 was formed?”  
  
“I know some of the rumours,” Jaina allowed. “One of them is obviously true.”  
  
Shaw nodded again. “The Stormwind Assassins, code-named SI:7, was created by Stormwind’s crown two generations ago. Adamant Wrynn, Light keep him and God rest his soul, realized that to fight crime, you needed to think like a criminal.”  
  
“It’s not entirely unreasonable,” Jaina agreed. “In Dalaran, the non-mage members of society were crucial in determining how we could better improve the quality of life for everyone that lived there. They love refrigerators.”  
  
Shaw blinked, and then shook his head. “I think that non-sequitur hit me square in the jaw,” he muttered, and drew in again. “He sent one of his agents to retrieve someone he believed was not inherently corrupt or greedy -- and being that this is Azeroth, both of those qualities are in ample supply -- from Stormwind’s Stockade. The offer was simple: work for the crown in exchange for clemency. Of course, they needed to test her. She was tasked to assassinate a corrupt high elven mayor, and leave no trace of her passing. She succeeded and she became the tip of the thumb, the leadership organization of the Assassin’s Guild.”  
  
“You’re leading me up to something,” Jaina said before drawing in another mouthful of smoke.  
  
“The woman’s name was Pathonia Shaw and she was my grandmother,” Shaw replied. “Though good on you for noticing.”  
  
Jaina nodded slowly.  _I don’t see a connection yet, but I won’t hurry him._  
  
Shaw smoked in silence for a little longer. “My mother followed my grandmother into the Stormwind Assassins... she was the lover of the man who recruited her, though as I understand it Adamant was pleased. He cared for my grandmother a great deal, and she was utterly loyal to him. She had turned to crime because she was bored, and never acted outside of his orders once she was recruited.”  
  
“A thrillseeker, I understand,” Jaina said. “I’ve done more than a few things for the fun of it, even if I knew they’d get me in trouble.”  
  
Shaw half-turned, and raised an eyebrow, gesturing to her with the wave of one hand. “You? Really? I’d have never have guessed.”  
  
“Ha. Ha,” Jaina replied tartly. “I won’t take you base jumping in Feralas, then.”  
  
“I don’t want to know,” he said, shaking his head. “My mother died when I was four, she failed to kill her target. My grandmother recruited me when I was ten, she’d been testing me for a long time. Physically, mentally... morally.”  
  
“Morally?” Jaina repeated, and Shaw nodded. He flicked the tip of his cigar, and then examined the burn. He frowned at the unevenness of it.  
  
“An assassin can find their job to be exciting. They can run walls, hide in shadows, break in and out of a residence, leaving everyone dead or everyone alive. But killing shouldn’t be a thing they do because it’s convenient. Because they don’t want to actually deal with a problem. An assassin who works for the crown shouldn’t be doing it because they want to stamp out dissent, but because corruption must never rise. It hurts the common people. It hurts the crown. An assassin should be able to adapt to a situation but never kill for their own sake. For convenience.”  
  
“A difficult line to walk, and one many might not understand,” Jaina said slowly, and then smiled. “Though I think I do.”  
  
Shaw smiled briefly, and then the expression faded. “I thought you might. Edwin did too. He was a friend of mine, we knew each other in childhood. His father was a general contractor, but Edwin had his sights set higher. He wanted to be an architect. He worked and he worked... he was brilliant. He also wanted to be an assassin. My grandmother was eager to recruit him, because we could use his expertise to root out places where assassins could hide, and create places where we could slip in and out. I was responsible for training him.”  
  
“That must have been hard,” Jaina said. “That kind of training is never easy.”  
  
“No,” Shaw agreed. “It was hard on both of us for a number of reasons... one of which is that by that time we were lovers as well as friends. We were also young and foolish. It’s harder to say which quality we had in greater excess.”  
  
“This must have been during the Wars too,” Jaina said. “Making it even more complicated.”  
  
“It was, and my grandmother never got over the fact that she lost Llane to the Halforcen. Adamant was a blow, but he was out riding... Llane was in his own library, killed by a friend. It hurt her. She retired rather than be killed, and left me in charge. I’ve tried to improve on her organization but it doesn’t need improving on... until now, perhaps. Edwin knows how we operate. He was fully inducted into the Guild. He knows our agents and our tells... but if he’s instructed all of his people on those things, I can’t tell. Some of them seem to be so... stupid.”  
  
“They don’t know each other,” Jaina noted. “You noticed it too.”  
  
“Of course I did, and some of them don’t have the right tell.”  
  
“Tell?” Jaina asked, focusing on him, her eyes bright with the anticipation of learning a new secret.  
  
“Stormwind agents have a thread of red amongst a white piece of clothing. It looks like a little bit of dirt, only other agents know of it. The earliest Defias we captured had a similar tell, a thread of white on their red masks. I don’t know if Edwin was mocking me or if it was simply a... sign. A number of the people we captured had no such tell... common thugs, but all ‘Defias’. Is he recruiting more people? Is someone using his name. I need to know.”  
  
“So do I,” Jaina replied. “Surely you knew where he was, though.”  
  
“I had an idea, but... I will be caught. He knows me, just as I know him.” Shaw sighed out smoke. “I can’t afford to be found.”  
  
“He won’t catch me,” Jaina murmured. “Unless he has an archmage on his side.”  
  
“He only has dabblers, mages aren’t well thought of here, as you must know now,” Shaw said. “The ones that are more powerful are all controlled strictly by the crown. No living outside the city, no secret rooms... everything has to be in the open. With Dalaran fallen, people don’t have many choices left.”  
  
“There’s Theramore.”  
  
“There is, but people are reluctant because of your attachment to the orcs.” Jaina made a face, and Shaw held up a hand. “Patterns emerge if you look at history closely enough.”  
  
“I don’t think that they will,” Jaina said, and smiled. “The only assassins the Horde employs are on our side, and that’s one mistake that won’t be made twice.”  
  
“Don’t tell me--” Shaw snapped.  
  
“I’m not telling you anything because I can’t be sure, but I have my suspicions,” Jaina said. “As someone who used to spy on people with the unspoken permission of my master, I can tell when people are trying to be sneaky.”  
  
Shaw grumbled. “How can she still be alive?”  
  
“I believe by living one day at a time,” Jaina replied. “There was one more thing I wanted to ask you about. You said you believed the Stormwind Assassins needed to change, and that you were all loyal to the crown. Correct?”  
  
“Yes,” Shaw said. “Utterly.”  
  
“What happens if your king becomes corrupt?”  
  
Shaw closed his eyes, and threw his cigar towards the bay with force. As it hit the water, an ogre, swimming through the water, grabbed it, sniffed it, and then ate it. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Logically, the answer is simple,” Jaina said. “If your job is to eliminate corruption, you must do it.”  
  
“But we would never be ordered to kill our own king!” Shaw snapped. “Varian would never ask for his own death!”  
  
“What is the purpose of the leader of a guild of assassins that will not lead and take his own initiative?” Jaina snapped back. “Do you think it’s supposed to be easy? Do you think it was easy to walk away from Arthas? From Dalaran? From my father? Do you think it was easy for Thrall to attack and subdue Grom knowing he’d have to kill him if our cleansing ritual failed? No, it’s  _never_  easy, but if Varian is hurting people then he must be stopped!”  
  
“He’s not corrupt!” Shaw cried. “He’s sad, and he’s hurting, and he’s so infernally lonely that he needs all the help he can get! You have no right to judge him!”  
  
“No more than he has the right to judge me,” Jaina said, her voice low with anger and menace. “Maybe VanCleef has a clearer vision of Varian’s behaviour than you do.”  
  
Shaw stiffened, and then sighed again. “I don’t want Edwin to be right. I don’t want Varian to have been right about him. I want to know what the hell happened that day and neither of them will speak to me of it.”  
  
Jaina inhaled slowly, and then exhaled. “I can get you an answer, one way or another.”  
  
“Thank you, Lady Proudmoore,” Shaw said, nodding. “Though I have a question for you in return.”  
  
“Very well,” Jaina said. “Ask it.”  
  
“Do  _you_  think Varian is corrupt?”  
  
“Not as such,” Jaina said. “I find Varian to be frustrating and narrow-minded, but I can also empathize that losing someone you’re close to can hurt you very badly... but he also has to lead, and running headlong into bad decisions is something that can lead to the fall of nations.”  
  
“You’re thinking of--”  
  
With a swift, deft motion, Jaina put the cigar in her hands into Shaw’s mouth, silencing him. “I need to go. If you’ll excuse me.” Not waiting for his response, she turned and left the balcony, the unspoken name echoing in her thoughts.  
  
_Please, Light, God, Sea and Sky, and anyone who is listening, let there never be another Arthas._


	3. Chapter 3: Early Autumn, Year 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 22nd, 2013, on LiveJournal.

_Empathy can only take one so far,_  Jaina thought grimly as she gazed across the town of Moonbrook. The town had been prosperous before the orcs had invaded: located close to a large, prosperous mine and an equally prosperous port, Moonbrook had linked southern Stranglethorn to Azeroth. Even now, the abandoned lighthouse was still visible from the town’s centre, marked by a once proud, and now dilapidated, fountain.  
  
The orcs had changed Moonbrook’s fortune for the worse. A band of ogres that had come through the Dark Portal had made their way to Moonbrook, seizing control of the mine with contemptible ease. Their filth had given rise to horrible slime creatures that had attacked every mining party still trapped inside them. Orcs -- some said only two, others said dozens -- had followed, killing many. Finally, an ancient, sacred tome had been stolen and brought there, and while Anduin Lothar himself had come to retrieve it, he’d needed a second force to get back out again.  
  
_Friendly or hostile, an army hurts,_  Jaina thought. Their port had been destroyed, their town overrun, their fields polluted. Many had been killed, and they had fled north when they could, or cowered in the northern mines when they could not. None of this would have been, as such, preventative towards making Moonbrook prosper once more, except...  
  
_Except that they never got the help they needed, and now it’s all gotten worse._  
  
It had taken a huge number of resources to rebuild Stormwind, and Lakeshire had been one of the townships directly in the path of the Horde. Goldshire, the main community outside of Stormwind, had been similarly battered, and others had not made it through the war, being absorbed into other communities. Even Darkshire, as close as it had been to Deadwind Pass and the ominous tower of Karazhan had been given more priority than Westfall. Westfall was on the other side of Elwynn Forest. It was known for being rather large, very flat, and utterly disinteresting. With more emphasis being put on rebuilding Stormwind’s port, Moonbrook’s had fallen by the wayside. The interest in Longshore was non-existent. The usefulness of the distant Jasperlode mine was limited, and what could be removed from the quarries was claimed immediately for Stormwind’s massive rebuilding project. Many of Westfall’s inhabitants had signed on to the project, believing that poverty was about to be at an end any day.  
  
Theoretically, all Westfall had to do was wait. So they waited. They scraped by on what could be spared from Stormwind and its slowly growing army, the determination never to be caught off guard again. In reality, their help would never come. Once Stormwind was partially rebuilt, it was attacked again. Once it was completed, as coffers strained to compensate, things went by the wayside. Projects were cancelled. The entirety of the Stonemason’s Guild was informed that they would not be paid.  
  
Some had committed suicide then, not waiting to see if it would ever get better. They had staked everything on the crown’s ability to repay their debts and for that their faith had been cast aside, dashed on the rocks. Others had grown angry, and none so angry as Edwin VanCleef. The disaffected had followed him into Stormwind, followed him onto its newly built streets for the riot, and followed him into exile and a life of crime. The people of Westfall had largely looked the other way, and it had become a haven for the Defias Brotherhood.  
  
Moonbrook had never been rebuilt, never recovered, and everyone who lived there had become a little harder, a little colder, and a little more paranoid.  
  
_One thing they weren’t paranoid about were arcane wards,_  Jaina thought to herself, fighting down her anger and disgust at the situation. Seeing Moonbrook was hard. She’d heard of the situation. She’d read the reports. It was one thing to read about it and another entirely to witness the criminal neglect of the once-proud town.  _Not even Dustwallow’s development sites are in this bad of a shape. What was Varian_ thinking?!  
  
Jaina moved quietly. No one could see her, shrouded as she was in an invisibility spell. She had practiced this for a long time, before she had been given her Archmage’s staff at the age of twenty-three. She had spied on countless meetings of the Council of the Six, offering Antonidas, their leader, her personal opinion. She had used it to see Medivh’s exchange with Arthas, as well as using it to protect herself during that miserable, exhausting flight from Hearthglen to Uther’s front step. Now, she used it to sneak through a dying town that simply shouldn’t be dying.  
  
She approached the barn, slipping in after a stocky man opened the doors, and she could tell that she was on the right path: he smelled of dust and of sweat, the scent ingrained into his clothes. It was a sign of hard work, without the earthy scents usually associated with those who worked with animals or in fields. She followed him in, though she turned left instead of right. This was the mouth of the mine. Taking a deep breath, she nearly gave herself away and stifled a sneeze. Inside the mine the air was filled with dust, explaining the masks worn by many of the miners.  
  
Lanterns hung from the braced ceilings, filling the mineshaft with soft, glowing light. While safer lighting conditions meant fewer accidents, those lanterns would not reveal Jaina as she walked, though excessive noise would. Moving slowly and carefully, she stepped past the miners. As the labourers worked, they talked back and forth, timing their words between loud strikes. Each time they struck the rock, Jaina moved, using the sound to give her extra cover. She continued. The mine was long and winding, and with each corner, Jaina stopped to consult the map Revilgaz had given her.  
  
_There are so many dead ends in this place... it makes me wonder if this was done deliberately or if it’s the natural consequence of mining. Thank Sea and Sky that I have a map._  The map led her around the labyrinthine, complex tunnels until she heard a sound, something very like saws.  
  
Peeking inside, she could see dozens of goblins, directing hobgoblin and ogre labourers to pick up great lengths of wood, many uncut, so that they could be properly shaped. Jaina smiled.  _There we are... no ‘mine’ should have need of this._  
  
Countless cords of wood were stacked up, waiting to be shaped into planks. Jaina nearly sighed with envy; the wood from Dustwallow tended to be very twisted and difficult to work with, causing her shipwrights no end of frustration.  
  
_There’s nicer wood in Ashenvale, but between the Kaldorei and the orcs, we’re better to make due from our own supplies... and a little hard work never hurt anyone. Particularly when the wood is nearly as strong as steel once it’s the right shape._  
  
Jaina skirted the edges of the sawmill, making note of the goblin in charge of it. She heard the name Sneed uttered and nodded to herself. As she moved on, she heard a call to the ‘mast room’. She frowned.  _Wait, all of this is for the mast? What kind of monster ship would need all of this?_  
  
Moving on, the dust of the mast room all but melted away in the face of the massive heat coming from the forge.  _How do they ventilate this? This is insane..._  Jaina wondered, creeping down the long, sloping spiral that led to the primary work area. Goblin smelters worked tirelessly as hobgoblins carried their work from one end of the massive room to another. Another goblin, Gilnid as his workers cursed him, oversaw them. Jaina felt her skin prickle through her wards, and she hurried on. The pathways were more straightforward now, larger and straighter, all the better to ship the smelted metal and shaped wood.  
  
Jaina inhaled, and her eyes widened.  _We must be right next to the sea... I can smell it from here. Fascinating._  She slipped through after the Defias labourers, and Jaina eyed them with curiosity. They did not wear the masks of their higher-ranking counterparts, but each bore the gear and hammer tattoo of the Stonemason’s Guild.  _At least that’s something, it lends credence to what we believe to be true. There’s only one way to find out._  
  
Once they went through the last set of doors, the labourers headed along a small dock, and up a gangplank to one of the largest ships Jaina had ever seen. Not even her father’s flagship, the  _Azure Shards_ , was this big, or rather, it was in an entirely different way. There was something utterly wrong about the great ship that lay before her, floating in shallow water though sheer force of will. This ship bristled with cannon emplacements, and there were heavy, endless piles of cannonballs visible through the ports. A goblin captain and his tauren first mate were arguing loudly near the gangplank as they disagreed about where to send the labourers, and Jaina shimmied up the docking ropes, silently using magic to prevent the rope from doing much more than gently sagging from her weight. She hauled herself up onto the deck and moved inside the main cabin.  
  
_This isn’t even a logical idea, why would you put a cabin on the deck when you could put it safely inside?_  Jaina wondered.  _It’s as if nothing about this ship makes sense._ Inside the cabin it was mostly dark, with a single lantern hanging to illuminate the large desk within, and a little of the rest of it. The cabin was largely bare, aside from the vast swathes of paper. At the desk sat a man, meticulously marking out lines on another huge piece of paper.  
  
“You have to know this thing will sink if it goes out into the open water,” Jaina observed, her voice cutting through the silence. “You’re many things, Edwin VanCleef, but you’re no fool.”  
  
One of the shadows moved, but the man sitting at the desk waved them off. “I have no fear of the Lady Proudmoore. She’s no agent of Stormwind.”  
  
“Not as such,” Jaina agreed. “And I only intend to ask questions and offer advice.”  
  
“I’ve heard you can sometimes even do those things well,” Edwin replied, and gestured for her to sit. “Do you smoke?”  
  
“Occasionally, and sometimes I’m not even on fire at the time.” Jaina smiled at the muffled giggle that came from the shadows. “Thank you, I get my sense of humour from my father’s side.”  
  
“Fetch us the cigarellos from Kezan, Vanessa,” he called, and the shadows shifted and grew empty. “Did Mathias send you?”  
  
Jaina moved a half-finished design for a ballista and sat. “In a sense. I came for my own reasons, and the questions he wants answered align with my own.”  
  
“Both an interesting and very cautious answer,” he observed. “You’re not scandalized by the implication I’ve been importing goblin goods.”  
  
“A goblin told me that you have important connections to the cartels,” Jaina replied. “And my own family’s history is not unknown.”  
  
“Yes, Proudmoores and their Kezan connection,” Edwin said, looking her over. “I’ve even heard that story about Derek.”  
  
“...it’s an old story,” Jaina said quietly. “A story that is important to my family, or should be.”  
  
“What story?” Now that the girl was in the light, Jaina could see she looked little older than ten. Bright, green eyes twinkled in the dim light as she offered the box to Edwin, who kissed her forehead and shooed her to a spare crate. Lithely, the girl climbed up and folded herself into a comfortable position.  
  
“My daughter, Vanessa,” Edwin interjected, by way of introduction, and Jaina raise an eyebrow.  
  
_When did he have the time for a daughter?_  Jaina wondered.  _Unless Mathias doesn’t know Edwin as well as he thinks he does._  
  
“I want to hear it,” Vanessa insisted. Jaina nodded and began:  
  
“My family have ruled Kul Tiras since its founding, some three thousand years ago. Our founder was an ex-pirate, and sought to unite all of the seafarers under one banner. After she succeeded, her children created three institutions, the merchant fleet, the Tiran Navy... and the Blackwater Raiders. Because they were willing to fight and trade by sea, the people of Kul Tiras had frequent run-ins with the goblins of Kezan... and because of how fiercely loyal my family was, any confrontation that involved one of their family members was met with violence that disrupted trade and required a lot of negotiations to get it going again.”  
  
“They sound brave,” Vanessa said. “And sometimes foolish.”  
  
“And stubborn,” Jaina agreed. “About three hundred years ago, the Grand Admiral in charge sat down with the Trade Princes from the Steamwheedle Cartel and negotiated with them. Both parties recognized that constant, disruptive warfare wasn’t good for trade, or even piracy. The goblins agreed to keep piracy out of Tiran waters, and the Tirans agreed that their jurisdiction would never fall outside specific parts of the Great Sea. In return, the goblins would mark members of the Proudmoore family so that if they were ever captured in raids they would be returned immediately. I have one, though it’s on my back, and it was given to me when I visited Undermine at the age of eight. I was also given a special, customized handgun that I was taught to use and care for. All Proudmoores have one, and they can’t be replicated because they use a rare substance only found on Kezan, and controlled carefully by the Trade Princes themselves.”  
  
“Wow,” Vanessa said, staring at her in awe and admiration. “So you can shoot? Are you a pirate too?”  
  
“Oh, I wanted to be when I was young, but my goals changed when I learned I had magic.” Jaina smiled. “My story isn’t quite done yet... I’m the youngest of four of my father’s children, I have a sister and two brothers, but one of my brothers is deceased. He... died during the war. Derek was captured by slavers once when he was younger than I am now and just learning his place on a ship. His crew was treated badly, and it would have gotten even worse if it weren’t for the fact that he was marked, just as I was. They intended to let him go, though not the rest of his crew.”  
  
“So, what happened?” This question was from Edwin, intensely asked. “Did he take his deal and leave?”  
  
“No,” Jaina replied, meeting his gaze. “Derek came right back, and killed the guards around the slave pits, and freed not only his crew, but every slave he could find, giving them stolen weapons, until he had an army. He wiped all the slavers out and brought the survivors to Kul Tiras, where they were given citizenship and welcomed as family.”  
  
“He broke your agreement with the goblins,” Edwin pointed out. “He could have started a war.”  
  
“He could have,” Jaina agreed, “but my father told him, told all of us, that sometimes you have to break laws when it comes to standing up for what you believe in. You must do what’s right, even when it’s not easy, even when it hurts, even when you must risk everything you have. You have to take a stand.”  
  
“I see why he sent you,” Edwin muttered. “Vanessa--”  
  
Vanessa’s bright, green eyes were shining in admiration. “Can I be you when I grow up?”  
  
Jaina laughed and ruffled her black curls. “I think you should be you when you grow up. With your own stories and great speeches.”  
  
“‘Nessa,” Edwin broke in, before Vanessa could say anything more. “Could you take this list and check it against the cargo manifests, please?”  
  
Vanessa swivelled on the crate and stared at him. Edwin shifted, and Jaina stifled a laugh. “If you want me to go away so you can talk to Lady Proudmoore, just say that. I’m not a kid.”  
  
“Of course not,” Jaina said. “Please.”  
  
“Okay.” Vanessa hopped off the crate, kissed her father’s cheek, and plucked the list from his hand, slipping off into the shadows.  
  
“I was wrong,” Jaina said after a moment. “I should have never doubted that she was your daughter.”  
  
“What, you didn’t think I had the hips for it?” Edwin asked, gesturing past his waistline. “She’s adopted, I found her wandering around after her parents were killed during the riot. My riot.”  
  
“She’s going to be a terror when she gets older,” Jaina said. “You promised me a smoke?”  
  
“I did,” he agreed, and handed her a cigarello. Jaina lit it, and inhaled. “So...”  
  
“As I said before, this ship will sink the moment it gets out of this cavern, faster than you can say ‘hey, you guys’. So, why?”  
  
“Do Tirans understand ‘make work projects’?”  
  
“This Tiran does, at least,” Jaina said. “There are stories from Lordaeron about their monarchs commissioning things like thousands of linen handkerchiefs or plain chairs so they could get money out of their treasuries and into the hands of the working poor. Calia once told me there’s an entire cellar devoted to holding those handkerchiefs. Or, there was, at the very least. Someone may be using them to weep for all the dead there.”  
  
“My people don’t make handkerchiefs, or chairs. They build things. They engineer, they tinker. The  _Defiant_ ’s raison-d’être is because they won’t take charity and this is what they’re good at. If building a machine for war and revenge keeps them focused...”  
  
“And the raiding parties?”  
  
“Varian somehow found it in his shallow coffers to pay soldiers but not architects. I have no regrets.”  
  
“What about the farmers, then?”  
  
Edwin paused, staring at the burning edge of his cigarello. “I never ordered that. I never wanted that. Westfall’s people have suffered more than enough.”  
  
“What about those people of yours burning for revenge? Couldn’t they have done it?”  
  
“They could, but they wouldn’t. They’re sworn to me.”  
  
“Then, wouldn’t the logical continuation of that thought be that there are people claiming to be Defias but aren’t?” Jaina pressed. “That someone is using--”  
  
“Actually, the most logical conclusion is that I’m a liar instead of an idealist pushed too far, or that my people aren’t all that loyal to me. You came to that conclusion because you know something that I don’t, and now you’re going to tell me.”  
  
“I definitely see where Vanessa gets it,” Jaina replied, without rancour. “I was called to Stormwind initially to deal with a Stockade riot. Their mages were making sure the Vault was secure, and Bolvar and I are friends. When I was there, I encountered an unusual prisoner who convinced me to look into why he was apprehended. While I was doing that, I noticed that a number of the so-called Defias prisoners didn’t know their own leaders. When Shaw and I discussed it, he said they’d arrested people who claimed to be Defias but lacked your tell.”  
  
“...so, he noticed that, did he?” Edwin murmured, and drew smoke into his mouth while he thought. As he exhaled, he asked, “So, what did he think?”  
  
“He agreed it was suspicious, and wanted to know about your motivation behind the initial Stormwind Riot, because apparently neither you nor Varian will tell him why it started. He doesn’t want to believe that you’re an evil man. It’s just that the events of the past few years have led him to believe otherwise.”  
  
Edwin ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. “The Riot happened because Varian was murdering my people, and slowly, not quickly. You have to know how much it costs to build a city... or rebuild it.”  
  
“Of course I do, the loans that both Thrall and I had to take out from the Undermine banks were ruinous, but we’re well on our way to paying them back,” Jaina replied, frowning. “I was lucky, I had enough capital from my family to nudge Theramore along. It’s been harder for Thrall, but he also has a great many more people working and bringing in trade for the Horde.”  
  
“And did it ever occur to either of you to simply not pay your people for their work?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Jaina replied sharply. “People do work and they are compensated for it. Even charity work, and this was not. Especially in Thrall’s case, this was a chance to show his people just how much independence they’d earned, to build a city with their own hands, to take pride in their accomplishments.”  
  
“That’s why you’re not Varian Wrynn.” Jaina settled back, smoking the cigarello slowly, enjoying the rich, dark flavour. It seemed to suit the situation well. “I knew that Azeroth was dirt poor after the Wars. We all did. There were some places the orcs hadn’t reached or burned, and they’d hardly done any resource exploitation in their hurry to push on. So, given time, workers, and the right resources, we could make Stormwind great again. That was the plan.” Edwin sighed out smoke. “I believed in that plan. Did Mathias tell you I was a trained member of SI:7?”  
  
“He did,” Jaina said. “He said his grandmother was eager to recruit you because of your technical skills.”  
  
“I miss Pathonia,” Edwin said, shaking his head. “She was a hard woman, but a good one. I’m lucky she retired or she’d have knifed me years ago.” He knocked ash into a cut-glass dish. “I had the chance to work with Varian and Bolvar personally, along with another person who shouldn’t be left out. Lianne Von Indi. Later known as Lianne Wrynn.”  
  
“Varian’s dead queen.”  
  
“The same,” Edwin agreed. “Lianne fit in well. Her family had sheltered in Lordaeron, they were from one of the noble families. Her cousin, Sirra, leads their family now. I think his father married Tiran, by his look.”  
  
“Probably. I’m unusual in that I’m so pale, it’s my mother’s heritage,” Jaina said. “How did she fit in?”  
  
“She came back when the rest of her family hid in Lordaeron because it was safer,” Edwin replied, and inhaled deeply. “She unlocked her family’s hidden vaults and gave the crown everything they had, including her dowry. In return, we bought materials with it. Cleaning aids, tools, uniforms... it wasn’t enough for everything by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a start. She took those cleaning aids and helped scrub down the walls of the Keep so they could be renovated and lived in again. She worked like a common servant from dawn until dusk, though she had her sights set high... well, putting it like that it seems like she was doing it only for selfish reasons.”  
  
“So, why was she doing it?”  
  
“She wanted to help make Stormwind great again. She wanted its people to live with pride, to be more than a people torn by war. She also had done some math in her head. Varian was twenty-one, she was nineteen. Kings need queens. She hoped that over the course of the rebuilding project, Varian would come to see, if nothing else, that she was a noblewoman who wasn’t afraid to work hard and get down in the dirt with the rest of us, that she’d used her wealth not to make herself look better, but to make  _Stormwind_  look better.”  
  
“It clearly worked if she became his Queen,” Jaina pointed out, and leaned forward to tap out her own ash. “And the mother of his child.”  
  
“It did,” Edwin agreed. “Varian did love her, very much. Too much. She did a great deal of the budgeting and negotiation with the Stonemasons, both because she was good at it and because Varian wanted to see how she’d handle it. She, like you and your orc friend, negotiated with the goblins. She let me and my people do the purchasing we needed because, as she put it, we knew how to build a city and she didn’t.”  
  
“That sounds fairly ideal.”  
  
“It was incredibly ideal at the time.” Edwin inhaled again, and closed his eyes. “I remember their wedding.”  
  
“What was it like?”  
  
“Quiet. Small. The paint in the cathedral was practically still wet. I could smell the masonry while I was in there. They didn’t wear fancy clothes, her hands were still red and chapped from the day’s work, Varian had a damned smudge on his nose. Bolvar kept trying to wipe it off and Varian wouldn’t have any of it. The man they had marry them was local, and he was having seasonal allergies so sneezed through the whole thing... but they were so happy. We all were. It felt like the world was changing for the better instead of for the worse, finally. Then...” He stopped, falling silent.  
  
“Then?” Jaina asked gently.  
  
“I didn’t think Varian could be any happier than the day he married, but the day he found out that Lianne was pregnant, he was ecstatic. I remember... he said that his grandfather had given out gifts on Llane’s birth-day, and that it became a holiday. Varian intended to do the same, though we were so poor it wasn’t practical. As soon as it was possible, he said. We’d celebrate everything. Something happened to Lianne. I don’t recall any doctor ever saying she was sick or weak, but Anduin’s birth was extremely hard on her. Varian spent every day at her side, Bolvar tried to heal her... and three weeks after Anduin was born, she died.”  
  
Jaina was silent for a time. “Then what happened?”  
  
“Varian absolutely lost his shit.” The words, harsh and crude, were uncompromising. Edwin’s eyes gleamed with anger. “He blamed just about everyone for her death. He spent half his time raging, and the other half locked away and depressed. The council of nobles, people who had mostly been absent from Stormwind during the rebuilding process, took over, with Bolvar leading them, trying to keep things together. The council of nobles voted to default on their debts to the goblins, citing that we’d overcharged and gone greatly over-budget. The Von Indi contribution should have been enough.”  
  
“That’s insane.”  
  
“It’s doubly insane when you consider all of the people who worked on that project were expecting to be paid. Instead of farming, they were building. Instead of fishing, they were building. Instead of doing anything else, they were building. They took out loans of their own, they scrimped, they saved... all because they were going to be paid by the crown someday... and then the council robbed them of that. Of that pride of accomplishment. I did what I could, I paid people back in part, going into debt myself. I also petitioned the council repeatedly. Bolvar sympathized... of course he did, we’d known each other for years. The Von Indis actually sympathized as well... but there were far too many people who wanted that money for themselves, for their own projects, for the old estates I’d ignored because I wanted to build a city. I tried to petition Varian directly.”  
  
“And that went poorly.”  
  
“You’d think you were there,” Edwin muttered. “It went very poorly. I was a ghoul, I was selfish... I waited years. I had to, I understood that losing Lianne was like losing a piece of his soul for him, but people were starving. I sympathized right until he told me that all I cared about was myself and then I simply... lost it. I went back to my people, told them the only way Varian was giving us what we deserved was if we took it and we started the riot.  _I_  started the riot. People died. Soldiers, workers, innocents. Vanessa’s parents, whoever they were. I’m not proud of that. I know I have blood on my hands, but damnit, so does Varian. I would have accepted it if he’d prosecuted me, but he just threw us out. All of us. Out of the city we built, the one we sweated over, bled over. The city  _Lianne_  helped build. I was so angry, we all were... we swore revenge. Now it defines us.”  
  
“Now someone is using you,” Jaina pointed out. “Revenge doesn’t have to define you.”  
  
“And what’s our other choice?”  
  
“Come to Kalimdor,” Jaina said, setting the cigarello down in the tray so she could sit forward and look to him earnestly. “Whoever is doing this is using the Defias... so take the Defias away from them. Get your people to lay low... I promise you, you’ll get more than enough work in Kalimdor. I have extensive building projects and land expansion I want to get done. If your people can stand working for orcs -- or even goblins -- then Thrall will have work for you too.”  
  
“You’re telling us to walk away from this.”  
  
“I’m telling you to give up on a course of action that will see you all dead or imprisoned. If you’re really doing this because you wanted to help your people and it went wrong, you’ll pick an option that’s good for them, not just for revenge. I believe you’re better than a petty thug. I think Mathias does too.”  
  
Edwin closed his eyes. “Mathias... very well. It will take time to pack my people up, and there will still be bandits and thugs here.”  
  
“Then the army can deal with them,” Jaina replied. “It’s what they were doing before.”  
  
“Why, that sounds almost cold of you, Lady Proudmoore,” Edwin said, chuckling briefly. “What of my people in jail?”  
  
“I can take care of that,” Jaina replied. “There’s enough chaos in Stormwind that I can have them filtered out of the system. Just make sure that they know that their lives will be different in Kalimdor, and that criminal activity won’t be tolerated.”  
  
“You run a tight ship?” Edwin guessed, and smiled a little. He stubbed out his cigarello and stood. “I’ll have to pack.”  
  
“That was a terrible pun, and yes.” Jaina stood. “I should go, unless you can think of anything else.”  
  
“No, I don’t think-- wait. There is one thing. It slipped my mind, I’m not even sure that it’s relevant.”  
  
“Anything could be. Please.”  
  
“Well,” Edwin began slowly, as if dredging something very old from his memory. “Not long before we officially completed the city’s reconstruction, a woman arrived. Tall, pale, dark hair and eyes. She claimed to be a noble from one of the areas first destroyed by the orcs, and wanted to be let onto the council. I want to say she helped donate funds to the crown but I couldn’t say. She didn’t like Lianne, I don’t think. I can’t imagine why not.”  
  
“It’s possible she had her sights set on Varian,” Jaina pointed out, frowning. “Do you know more about her than that? The land she was from, anything?”  
  
“No, she was very private, and Varian never asked for more details. Lianne was curious, but... you know.”  
  
“I do know,” Jaina said, sighing. “Is she still on the council?”  
  
“As far as I know, she is. Her name is Katrana Prestor.”  
  
“Prestor...” Jaina murmured. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t think why. I’ll look into it, it’s not totally uncommon for nobles to hire criminals to keep their hands clean, that could be all it is. I’m just not sure why in this case. I need more information. I’ll talk to Varian about it.”  
  
“Best of luck, Swamp Queen,” Edwin said with a little bow. Jaina grinned at him.  
  
“That’s Marsh Queen.”  
  
“Same difference.”  
  
“You’re going to need to know the difference if you’re expected to turn parts of it into farmable land.”  
  
Edwin cursed, and Jaina slipped out. Almost immediately, she was accosted by Vanessa, full of questions. Jaina urged her to speak to her father, and continued out, walking across the ship towards the gangplank on the other side of the ship, leading out to the shorter tunnel that led to the sea.  
  
Defias blinked in confusion, seeing someone leave a ship that they had not seen enter it, and Jaina waved jauntily, striding down the gangplank. She scanned the passageway, finding only gloom and mine dust, and walked into it. Several short hops later, she was gazing out at the section of Westfall creatively named Longshore.  
  
_Hopefully, I can explain to Varian, and his investigators can take care of the rest._  Scanning the horizon, she smiled.  _And then, Stormwind can begin to h--_  
  
A hand clamped over her mouth, and another grabbed her wrists. “That’s it, snoop, you’re coming with me.” Jaina twisted, trying to see the man who had her, and she saw nothing but a pair of cold eyes and a red mask.  
  
_Defias!_  Jaina thought urgently.  _Did Edwin betray me... no... no, this is_  it! Her elbow snapped out unthinkingly, striking the man in the nose and he swore. The next step would be to polymorph him and mock his poor choices in attacking an Archmage, but something clicked. Vaelan had allowed himself to be captured to gain greater insight.  
  
_I can do the same._  Someone was moving behind her, trying to catch her off guard. She pulled her magic in tight, and flailed out with her fist. Another voice, female this time, swore, and Jaina shifted.  _Come on, hit me. Let’s get this over--_  
  
A fist hit the back of her head and she blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4: Early Autumn, Year 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 25th, 2013, on LiveJournal.

Consciousness found her trussed up, her wand and gun seized, and lying in the back of a wagon in darkness. Carefully, Jaina let magic flow through her, easing her headache.  _No concussion and permanent brain damage for me, thank you. Now then..._  Little enhancements, like improving her hearing, came quickly, and she smiled, even as straw prickled her skin.  _No mage collar... idiots. Of course, most mages would need their hands and mouths to cast... I don’t._  
  
Her captors were talking about a spire. Logically, such could apply to any number of places, but the conversation with Vaelan pricked at her mind.  _Blackrock Spire. We’re going to Blackrock Spire. Vaelan wasn’t wrong, then._  
  
She shifted against the straw slightly, and closed her eyes. Meditation was not a common habit of mages, often left to those of a more religious nature. Mages, or so they believed, controlled their minds through rigid practice, not ritual.  
  
_Mages,_  Jaina thought as she slowed her breathing,  _are often the stupidest smart person one knows._  Thrall had taught her this specific technique, to let her mind empty and the spirits flow through her. She had no ability to speak to the spirits, but that mattered little. Slowly, the dozens of running thoughts through her mind slowed their pace, sat down, and began to meditate too, easing more of the strain on her busy intellect. In concert, her mind focused on one thing, and she saw outside the wagon.  
  
Invisible to others, an arcane eye opened, peering down at her captors. They moved down the coast, aiming to shelter in one of the many coves in Westfall. With a detached air, she watched, rather than heard, the fake-Defias argue amongst themselves. As they avoided illumination by the Longshore Lighthouse’s great lamp, something flickered briefly.  
  
_Odd,_  Jaina thought, but let the thought go. Her mind was quiet and open, to magic if not to the spirits. She was not-thinking, not-analyzing. Not-planning. Definitely not concerned. There was only the power of the arcane. Within an hour of her waking, they stopped. They were in Stranglethorn now, the wagon having jounced and jolted over a narrow path. Dark-skinned humans met with her kidnappers, exchanging information, a packet of money, and some mild threats. At the end of it, a dark-robed man stepped forward and began to weave a spell, waving and muttering.  
  
_Poor form, bad diction if his mouth movements are any judge, at least two proscribed short-cuts..._  Jaina thought, and the wagon shuddered a little.  _On the other hand, teleporting objects can be tricky--_  
  
Jaina did not like to be teleported by others. It made her skin crawl and her stomach lurched. She never felt this discomfort when she teleported herself, and some others, some precious others, like Antonidas and Kael’thas, had a delicate touch with teleportation spells. Their spells did not disturb her either.  
  
_It’s a reminder of how others feel, a time to remind me of empathy,_  Jaina thought once the spell cleared. Immediately, the smell of choking ash filled her nostrils, and she had to adjust a comfort spell to push back the feeling of heat. Now the wagon began to move again, and she opened her arcane eye again.  
  
She had never seen Blackrock Mountain in person. She had heard stories from others, but this...  _seeing_  it was another thing entirely. It seems to touch the sky, an upthrust fist with a single digit extended in disdain. Jaina’s fingers curled to return the favour. The wagon rattled up the winding path into the mountain. The arcane eye and Jaina’s gaze swept over exposed pools of lava, and even through her enchantments, the inside of the theoretically dormant volcano was intolerably hot. Her captors felt no less discomforted, which pleased her.  
  
There was a certain grim austerity to the home of the Dark Iron Dwarves and the old Horde. Never easy neighbours, Jaina’s eye saw where the lines had been drawn: the Molten Span. The dwarves had the size and the ingenuity to create narrow chain-paths that would take one deeper inside the mountain and their domain. The orcs had elected to claim the upper parts, carving out and then reinforcing them with dark iron, obsidian. Up was where they were going. Up, and up, and further up. The lower half of Blackrock Spire was a mess, from the glimpse her arcane eye gave her, and she saw trolls and ogres as well as orcs, though these had dusky skin rather than the bright, vibrant green she held so dear.  
  
_At least some of that must be the conditions they live in,_  Jaina mused.  _I wonder how many live here because they never heard Thrall’s call. Perhaps..._  She was jolted out of her thoughts as the wagon stopped.  
  
Rough voices called out in warning, stating humans must go no further. Jaina closed off her arcane eye and lay still. The low cover of the wagon was ripped back, and heat washed over Jaina.  
  
“Wake up,” growled an orc, reaching over to shake her. With studied care, she hesitated for three seconds, just long enough to annoy him, and opened her eyes.  
  
“What?” she asked, keeping her voice muzzy. He grabbed for the bindings on her ankles, pulling them off. She winced, and, oddly, he became more gentle, unwinding the ropes.  
  
“What’s taking so damned long, Ariok?” demanded the second warrior, and the first -- Ariok -- growled back. “The Warchief demands it.”  
  
“His master demands it,” muttered Ariok, and lifted Jaina up by the elbow, setting her on her feet. “Move along, now.”  
  
_That name sounds familiar,_  Jaina thought, remembering the scent of different fire, different accents.  _I wonder..._  
  
Between them, the orcs led Jaina through the city, to the upper part of the spire. There were fewer orcs here, and the first of the dragonkin. As tall and broad as orcs, but twice the mass, they bore heavy, two-bladed pikes, and armour and scales blended together seamlessly, one ending where the other began. Their scales were black, edged with gold, and their bellies red when she could see them. Lighter, slightly thinner dragonkin with different markings patrolled between them, and Jaina could smell and sense their magic, of fire, of brimstone, of the deep earth.  
  
People stopped to watch Jaina and her escort as they took her past work chambers and meditation cells. Some lips curled with disdain, others growled in anger, and still others let flickers of fear move over their features before feigning disinterest. Jaina made a note of it.  
  
Of her captors, Ariok seemed the older, but his grip was gentler; firm, but not painful. The other, unnamed orc was bruising her, a pitiful show of force against a prisoner that was -- as far as  _he_  knew -- helpless, trapped with nowhere to run.  
  
_Asshole,_  Jaina thought venomously. Past the workrooms was an elemental, and Jaina squinted her eyes against the bright flame cutting through the gloomy darkness. “What is this?” she added with a deliberate quaver.  
  
“Ambassador Flamelash,” grunted Ariok. “From Ragnaros. Not for you to worry about.”  
  
“Aren’t the Dark Iron your enemies, and their elemental allies too?” Jaina asked, a prickle of unease moving through her.  _Stormwind’s greatest asset is how much the orcs and the Dark Iron hate each other. Should they become allies..._  
  
“They are, with their foul sorcery and their coal eyes,” Ariok agreed, “but the Warchief--”  
  
“Shut  _up_ ,” snarled the other orc, gripping Jaina’s arm, and her noise of pain was unfeigned. “Don’t tell a  _human_  all of our secrets.”  
  
“She’s going to Lord Nefarius,” Ariok said, growling back. “Who is she going to tell?”  
  
_That has to be a fake name,_  Jaina thought.  _Like ‘Fel’dan’ or ‘Kel’thuzad’._  
  
“That doesn’t matter, the point is you’re flapping your jaws and keeping him waiting.”  
  
“I’m keeping him waiting, but you’re breaking his prisoner’s arm,” Ariok pointed out. “Look at her.”  
  
His companion snarled at him, but loosened his grip. “Hurry up.”  
  
Jaina, with Ariok’s firm hand on her arm, hurried. Her mind raced as feeling flooded back into her other arm. “Thank you,” she murmured to Ariok, who grunted back.  
  
The remainder of the journey was a blur of grim, poorly lit corridors, occupied by orcs, or dragonkin, or both. There was a sense of tug-of-war between Ariok and the other orc who never divulged his name. Jaina’s nostrils flared as they approached a grand archway, carved with runes Jaina didn’t recognize, though they made her skin crawl to look at them.  
  
“Ah, and here we have our spy. Leave us.”  
  
Ariok saluted, and a moment later, the other orc saluted too, retreating out of the room. Jaina eyed the man --  _dragon_  -- with distaste. In his human form, the man was dark-skinned, like one from southern Stranglethorn, or one of Kul Tiras’ isles, and he had shoulder length black hair. His eyes, the colour of amber, were hard and cold as they observed her, as though she were an ant crawling across the dark flagstones. His clothes were also black, trimmed with gold, an elegant shirt and pants suit. His fingernails, she observed before he reached out to touch her cheek, were long.  
  
“And here we have the holder of leashes,” Jaina replied, jerking her head away. “You certainly make an impression on people.”  
  
“I have been known to, when people survive meeting me,” Nefarius admitted, and smiled. “So defiant. Do you know where you are?”  
  
Jaina made a show of looking around. “I am in a dark, smelly pit, with a pretentious asshole.” She looked directly into his eyes, bracing herself against his first attack. “Am I close?”  
  
Looking into his eyes might have been a mistake: within his amber orbs -- because his eyes had grown large, solid-coloured, and threatened to overwhelm his face -- was an endless abyss, the canyons beneath the earth. They held no riches, promised no wealth or mystery, simply the endless, gaping void that consumed. There was a name there, a real one...  _Nefarian, son of Deathwing._  Jaina’s breath caught in her throat, and she focused on a single image, a point of light, hope, and defiance. She held that image in her mind, and after a moment, Nefarius broke his gaze and frowned.  
  
“Your insolence will be your death one day, human.”  
  
“Just as your propensity for acting like a giant, erect phallus will guarantee yours,” Jaina replied, slightly breathless, and let the image go.  
  
“Come,” Nefarius commanded, and then winced at his own wording. “Follow.”  
  
Jaina followed. Moving further into the room, she felt a chill move down her spine. Hidden in the shadows were what at first seemed like heaps of raw meat. Red muscle and yellow-white bone gleamed in the dim light. As she moved closer, she could see damaged, discoloured scales. Blue and white, green and yellow, red, bronze... sickeningly, even black.  
  
“What... what is this?” Jaina managed.  
  
“My lab,” Nefarius said, waving towards the bodies. “I am a geneticist, a scientist, if you prefer.”  
  
“I don’t prefer,” Jaina said, shaken. “That’s not how science works.”  
  
“It is when you only require results, not spotless methodology. Oh, you must be one of those terribly prosaic Dalaran mages, the sticklers for proper procedure and morality. That netted you Kel’thuzad, that must make you so proud.”  
  
“Nicolai Kelthus and his ilk were a handful of disasters in six thousand years of history. It’s hardly what I call precedent,” Jaina said, rallying. “What could you possibly hope to gain from this... disgusting display?”  
  
“My dear -- I’m sure you dislike being called my dear, but it’s my privilege to be patronizing, as you are doomed -- you may not be aware, but we dragons are Titan constructs. A seed race, among seed races. As such, we have never completely understood how it is that we do what we do, how we have survived despite... setbacks... and what our relationship is with the natural world. Most do not care, and are simply content with the fact that we have one, and that we do continue to exist.”  
  
He led her into another room where assistants -- mostly goblins -- worked on adding chemicals to a dark red liquid. As one of the experiments yielded a sharp, coppery tang, Jaina realized it was dragon blood.  
  
“Not you, though,” Jaina hazarded. “You want to know more, to learn all of the secrets of this world.” She swallowed. “Regardless of cost.”  
  
“Oh, very good,” Nefarius said, clapping his hands together, the sharp sound causing the goblins to jump. “You’re not as small minded as I thought.”  
  
“It would be hard for me to be as stupid as you think I am,” Jaina noted. “So, what? You capture dragons that stray too close, and... slaughter them?”  
  
“Oh, no no no,” Nefarius said, turning to look at her. Jaina looked at him, but avoided his gaze. “I capture dragons that stray too close -- or are failures for other reasons -- torture them, experiment on them, and  _then_  slaughter them. There’s far too much valuable information that the living can yield to simply kill them out of hand.”  
  
“You are absolutely, flagrantly, and flamboyantly evil, aren’t you?” Jaina said. “You’re like a caricature of a madman.”  
  
Nefarius’ good humour vanished, and he grabbed her by the robes and flung her across the laboratory, sending her crashing into a pile of old, rusted cages. Jaina cried out in pain and shock, even as she used a small amount of magic to protect her.  
  
“I do not usually deal with human subjects, but you will find my methodology to be thorough, if not to your taste,” he hissed, smoke flooding from his nostrils as his grip on his human form became less certain. He snarled at two of the nearby goblins, who dropped what they were doing and hurried over to Jaina. “Take her to the sanctum.”  
  
Jaina glared at the goblins, but her anger was nothing before the insane dragon, and they forced her to stand, prodding her towards yet another room. This one was cool and dark, and had a strangely sterile feeling to it, as if all of the horror was saved for the first few rooms of the lab. They had her sit, and barred the door from the far side.  
  
_Well,_  Jaina thought wearily.  _That was bracing._  She pulled up her sleeves, examining the bruising on her arms ruefully.  _So let’s see what might be in here._  She tugged her sleeves back down, and surveyed the room. The floors here were made of marble, and all of the furniture of shining metal, including the tables meant for operations, and the various tools laying on them. It reminded Jaina of the old labs in Dalaran, save for the fact the tools were littered with devices of excruciation. Cabinets lined one of the far walls, and Jaina hurried to them, finding them filled with notes and arcane crystals.  
  
She skimmed some of the notes, finding all of it horrible, but potentially illuminating.  _It’s not as though he can kill me more than once when he finds out,_  she reasoned, and emptied out each of the cabinets, putting the notes in a pile on the floor. Closing her eyes, she let magic spill from her hands as she designed a complex, interlocking series of shapes, and enclosed them in a circle. With a slight pop, the notes disappeared, to reappear in Jaina’s own labs.  
  
_Now, let’s get out of--_  
  
Crying. The sound was familiar and heartbreaking, and it came from one of the smaller, adjoining rooms. Jaina moved towards the sound hurriedly, looking over her shoulder before ducking into the room. Within was a slumped figure, and a spark of light -- which invoked another sob -- illuminated a small, blue dragon. There was scarring along his flanks, turning azure scales to the duller blue of the gnomish air corps. The dragon lay at the base of a cage on top of a thin layer of dirty straw.  
  
“It’s alright,” Jaina murmured. “I’m going to help you. Please don’t cry.”  
  
“I’m so hungry...” the little dragon whispered, the voice youthful and male. “He doesn’t feed me the right things.”  
  
Jaina’s mind raced. “Magic. You need magic, hang on.” She knelt by the dragon’s head, and held out her hand, palm up. The dragon’s snout twitched, questing for her touch, and finally, he let his muzzle rest against her fingers. Carefully, Jaina summoned arcane magic into her hand, raw and unformed. It was an old exercise, to build power and test endurance, but Jaina remembered it, and felt her whole body tingle from the sensation. Without opening his mouth, the dragon drew the magic from her hand, inhaling it, drawing into himself slowly at first, and then quickly, as a starving man gulps down food.  
  
_And on that note..._  Jaina regulated his magical draw carefully, keeping him from gorging. The dragon opened his eyes, giving Jaina a reproachful, amethyst-eyed look. “I don’t want you to overfeed,” Jaina said, rubbing her free hand just above his ear slit. “It will hurt both of us.”  
  
He sighed, and slowly moved his wings. “I’m still hungry.”  
  
“I know,” Jaina said gently. “I know. I’m going to get you out of here, though.” After letting him take a little more, she pulled her hand back. She grasped the bars of his cage, letting magic spark and crackle along the metal bars before pulling back sharply, taking the bars of the cage with her. She removed each bar on one side, and helped the little dragon move. His body, from nose to rump, was only the size of a six year old, and while his wings and tail made him larger, he still seemed so small. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Awbegos... Awbee,” the dragon replied. “I can’t fly.” His eyes were wide with sorrow and shame. “I don’t know how.”  
  
“You don’t need to fly, I’ll carry you,” Jaina said, and helped him into her arms. He curled his tail around one of her wrists as she held him. She levered herself up.  _You’re so light... is this how all dragons are, or is it because you were starving?_  “How did you come to be here?”  
  
“I was egg-napped,” Awbee murmured, rubbing his head against the back of her neck. “I hatched here, in the rookery, with the others.” He shuddered. “They didn’t like me at all.”  
  
“I like you,” Jaina assured him. “Where is this rookery?”  
  
“There’s a pathway from the lab, I remember they took me that way, before... before the experiments.” Awbee shuddered again in fear.  
  
“Never again,” Jaina whispered. Anger and disgust flooded her.  _There is nothing to be done for the dead, but the living will know freedom._  “We’re going to go there, and if there are any other stolen eggs left, we’re going to rescue them. I promise.”  
  
Awbee rubbed against her neck again, and lay still. Jaina rubbed her fingers along his neck, and hurried. While vague, Jaina’s instincts brought her down a wide, dark passage that led towards a heat source. It was slightly moister here as well, adding humidity to the warmth and dim light.  
  
_Like a womb,_  Jaina considered.  _Or the bowels of the earth._  She peered around a corner carefully. The rookery was lit by braziers, reflecting over a number of what Jaina had to assume were dragon eggs: the size of a human woman’s pregnant stomach, they were oval in shape but spiked in a number of places as though clawed against danger. The shells were black and gleamed in the dim light. Here and there, female dragonkin wandered through the rows, turning them slightly, making sure all sides were warmed evenly.  
  
“So many...” Jaina murmured. “I didn’t think there were that many dragons.”  
  
“There aren’t, not really,” Awbee murmured back. “Broodmothers lay many eggs. A lot have nothing in them, they’re thrown away, sometimes, or they’re kept so hatchlings can break them open and eat what’s inside. Others aren’t born into dragons at all, they’re born into dragonspawn, and they grow into dragonkin. If you have five eggs, one or two might be empty, and two or three might have dragonkin in them. Dragonkin don’t lay eggs at all, they’re infertile. There are only more of them because Broodmothers lay them.”  
  
“So, one in five dragon eggs become more dragons?” Jaina asked, curious even as she moved from shadow to shadow.  
  
“If the hatching is good,” Awbee replied. “Eggs stay eggs for some time, sometimes years, because you’re growing inside. People talk to you inside the egg too, they teach you. When we’re ready, we hatch... and that’s hard too, because hatchlings don’t always survive. Sometimes they aren’t strong enough... or sometimes, hatching is the really hard part.” He shivered. “Blue hatchlings don’t have control of their magic, so they... destabilize.”  
  
“...baby blue dragons  _explode_?” Jaina murmured in sheer disbelief.  
  
“Yes,” Awbee said. “I don’t know about the others, but black dragon hatchlings fight each other. It’s a... frenzy. The ones that survive grow up.”  
  
“I will never again complain about humanity’s early phases of eat-sleep-poop-cry,” Jaina said, hugging him. “But... what happens after that?”  
  
“We eat and we grow,” Awbee replied, nuzzling her. “Lots and lots of both. We don’t stop... the biggest dragons are also the oldest, the most powerful, or both. My Mama told me, when I was still an egg, that I would feed on the magic of the world, and when I got older, I’d keep it steady. I would monitor the ley lines, keep them clear and stable. I’d make sure the nodes weren’t sick or damaged. I might even get to pretend to be a mortal and spend time in one of their cities.”  
  
“Where slightly deranged magic students would take bets as to which flight you were from,” Jaina said. She felt Awbee shift out of curiosity. “It’s a long story, I’ll tell it later... wait, I think I see something.”  
  
Clustered amongst the black dragon eggs were other colours. A ruby that made Jaina think of the Horde’s colours, shimmering and proud, and a green the colour of deep forests, along with two yellow-gold eggs that felt as though they couldn’t decide if they were there or not. They were being tended to by an orc, clad in robes and wearing a red hood.  
  
_Odd, I’ve never seen that manner of dress before, but I can’t know every orc tradition, especially not here._  Jaina hugged Awbee again. “I see some of the egg-napped. I’m going to need to use magic to get rid of that orc, so you mustn’t try to eat it. Alright?”  
  
“Alright,” Awbee replied, settling in. Jaina moved swiftly, and used the hand that wasn’t holding Awbee up to summon more arcane magic.  
  
Jaina drew back her hand.  _Smile, you son of a--_  
  
The orc turned, and Jaina met a green-eyed gaze, and held his hand up to catch hers. Jaina realized she knew those eyes, even as he brought a finger to his lips.  
  
“Vaelan!” Jaina hissed, drawing her magic back.  
  
“Now can I eat it?” Awbee murmured.  
  
“Yes,” Jaina said absently, and let Awbee draw more magic from her. She turned her attention back to Vaelan. “What are you doing here?!”  
  
“I told you I was watching the Spire,” he replied. “How did you think I was doing it?”  
  
“I don’t know, the way all sensible people would: with magic, from a safe distance, and with your finger on the igniter for a cannon,” she retorted sharply. “Did you know about this?” She indicated Awbee.  
  
“I did, and there have been more victims,” Vaelan said, his expression grave. Jaina regretted her anger instantly. “Brothers and sisters, my cousins from other flights. Here are the most tragic victims. Eggs are infants when they are first laid... these ones will know no other life unless they are taken home. This little one has lived a hard life for one so young.”  
  
“...so we’re taking them and getting out of here,” Jaina said. “Good.”  
  
“We are,” Vaelan agreed. “Your help would be appreciated.”  
  
“Of course,” Jaina replied. She looked down at the cluster of eggs, and frowned. “You have a black egg here.”  
  
“I want to see,” Awbee said, and Jaina turned a little, missing Vaelan’s expression. Awbee hissed, like a cat.  
  
“I do, yes,” Vaelan said evenly. “There is more to this than you know.”  
  
“I happen to love secrets, so telling me about them would be helpful, especially if you want me to help you,” Jaina pointed out.  
  
“This isn’t the time--”  
  
“The more you delay and fuss about time, the longer the whole process takes. The ideal solution is to summarize without excessive levels of kodo dung, so I can formulate a plan,” Jaina said tartly, turning to face him. “Tick, tock.”  
  
“I know this dragon egg to contain a true black dragon,” Vaelan said, reluctant. “It is freshly laid, so it has not been indoctrinated in the ways of violence or corruption by the black dragonflight. This egg has potential.”  
  
“For what?” Jaina asked, then considered. “To not be evil?”  
  
“Correct,” Vaelan agreed, placing a hand on it. “Dragons are no more born evil than humans or elves or even orcs are. The problem is that dragons are taught particularly early of the ways of their dragonflight, for both good and ill. A red dragon is taught to love life, to preserve it... to fight for it when we can. Imagine if we were raised from birth to believe that other races were only a blight on the world, to be cleansed with claw, tooth, tail, and fire. What would we be then? The black dragons are corrupt because Deathwing taught them to be so. He instilled values in them that turn them into monsters. My Queen, the mother of my flight, she believes that we can reverse this. She has met with opposition. Some fear her loyalties may be... compromised, but I... I believe it.”  
  
“I do too,” Jaina agreed. “So you’re egg-napping this little one in the hopes that he can be taught to be more like a red dragon?”  
  
“No,” Vaelan said. “My Queen will teach this little one how to be a true black dragon, a guardian of the earth and the protector of the depths. For far too long have their charges been abandoned. He or she will be taught to do Neltharion’s duty, not Deathwing’s.”  
  
“Then let’s get him somewhere he can learn that,” Jaina said. “I can teleport you all to Theramore--”  
  
“No,” Vaelan said, again. “It is not that I don’t trust you, but these eggs must be returned to my flight. I would want them to be taken directly to the home of the red dragonflight...” He paused. “The Ruby Sanctum in Northrend.”  
  
“...it strikes me that the seat of power of the Lich King is not the best place to bring anyone, much less vulnerable baby dragons,” Jaina pointed out, unease prickling across her skin.  
  
“Icecrown is some distance from the Dragonblight, and we must defend our dead and our living alike. Surrendering our sacred home is not an option.”  
  
“You’d find it remarkable what options become available when you’re faced with an army of your own dead,” Jaina pointed out. “In fact--”  
  
“This is no time to be a smart ass,” Vaelan hissed.  
  
“It’s always time to be a smart--”  
  
“What’s going on here?”


	5. Chapter 5: Early Autumn, Year 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 28th, 2013 on Livejournal.

Jaina and Vaelan turned, and Jaina swallowed: Ariok approached them at speed, avoiding the eggs with great skill. His gaze took in everything, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vaelan’s fingers curling.  
  
“Wait,” Jaina said urgently. “Just wait.” Her mind raced, and information clicked into place. “Your father’s name is Eitrigg, isn’t it?”  
  
“Do not speak his name,” Ariok growled. “My father disgraced the Horde a long time ago.”  
  
“How?” Jaina asked. “What were you told he did?”  
  
Ariok eyed her. “He was a coward. He fled after a great battle.  _The_  great battle.”  
  
“You almost died that day,” Jaina prompted. “During the siege.”  
  
“Yes,” Ariok admitted reluctantly. “And my brother Restagg did die. How do you know of this, human? Why do you care?”  
  
“I’ve met Eitrigg,” Jaina said. “He’s a friend. Your father didn’t abandon you, but he did leave the Horde. He left because he believed that both you and your brother were dead. That the warlocks had betrayed the Horde and that it led to the deaths of his beloved sons. He could not believe in that Horde. He went north, near Hearthglen, and lived in exile.”  
  
“Do we have time for this?” Vaelan asked, his voice taut with anger.  
  
“That’s a bold claim,” Ariok growled, ignoring him. “He ran to the humans like a coward.”  
  
“He ran into the heart of enemy territory because there wasn’t anywhere else for him to go,” Jaina said, her voice quiet, but there was intensity behind her words. “How could he go back to Draenor, to Blackrock Spire, to any place the Horde had seized  _knowing_  that he’d be going there without you or your brother? He was willing to give up the last thing he had, the companionship of other orcs, because he lost what mattered most to him.”  
  
Ariok was quiet, and Jaina continued.  
  
“When he was in Lordaeron, a human paladin came across him, Tirion Fordring. I never knew him well, but I knew him by reputation. As the story goes, he fought your father in an old, ruined tower. They both showed great honour, never pressing their advantage when the other couldn’t defend themselves. The tower collapsed, and your father made sure that Tirion was sent back to his own people. Your father is an honourable man, towards those who deserve it. Those who act with honour in return.”  
  
“He was naive. Humans hate us.”  
  
“Many did, and some still do,” Jaina admitted. “It’s different in Kalimdor. The new Horde, Thrall’s Horde, are the allies of the humans living there, led by Jaina Proudmoore.” She couldn’t help but smile. “It took some doing, but it happened.”  
  
“And why does Jaina Proudmoore trust the Horde?”  
  
Her smile widened. “Jaina Proudmoore trusts the Horde because she fought beside them at Hyjal, against demons and the undead. She trusts them because in the end, when the Horde believes that it can do good things, live freely and well, when it acts with honour and integrity, they are the finest of allies and the best neighbours.”  
  
“...you’re Jaina Proudmoore, aren’t you?” Ariok asked, gazing at her.  
  
“I knew you were clever,” Jaina said. “Come to Kalimdor. I’ve seen it in your eyes, and that of many of the people here. You aren’t here because you deeply believe in Nefarian’s cause, or Blackhand’s, or even the old Horde. You’re here because you were left behind. Perhaps you feel betrayed by the rest of the Horde, that suffered in captivity or was hiding in the Alterac Mountains. Perhaps you never realized there was another choice.”  
  
“Perhaps you don’t understand orcs,” Ariok growled. “I won’t run away from my duty.”  
  
“The question is, what is your duty?” Jaina asked, unintimidated. “Is your duty to support a pretender? Orgrim Doomhammer passed on the duties of Warchief to Thrall. Rend Blackhand has no business pretending otherwise. If his father had truly been strong enough to rule, he would have slain Doomhammer in single combat when Doomhammer challenged him. Is it your duty to support a madman? Look at Awbee.  _Look at him._ ” Jaina turned so that Ariok could see his flank.  
  
“...what did this?” Ariok asked quietly, hesitantly bringing up a hand, running a fingertip along one of the deep-gouged scars. Awbee shivered, and Jaina murmured to him.  
  
“Nefarian did this. Victor Nefarius, Rend’s ally,” Jaina said, her voice hard. “Awbee is a child. Ask yourself what kind of person hurts children. Then ask yourself if you want to stand behind them, condoning their actions, supporting their efforts.”  
  
“Children are precious to orcs,” Ariok murmured, his expression troubled. “Too many of them still die: to sickness, to this heat, to the black smoke of the mountain.”  
  
“Then don’t the children of the Horde deserve to live somewhere better? With a leader who treats children like the treasures they are, instead of new meat for the grinder?” Jaina’s voice was gentle, almost pleading. “Children live in Kalimdor. They thrive.”  
  
Ariok took in a breath. “I cannot leave. There are too many who need to leave as well, and we’d be missed quickly.”  
  
“You don’t have to leave right away,” Jaina said, smiling. “Gather those whom you think will follow you... head south, rather than north. You should be able to skirt most of the civilized parts of Redridge and make it south to Stonard. There’s a small group of Horde that live there, they watch the Dark Portal... just in case, as the wizards of Nethergarde do.”  
  
“Stonard is a damned stupid name for a settlement,” Ariok muttered, and then gave Awbee’s neck a brief scritch. “Who named it?”  
  
“Blackhand, I believe,” Jaina said. “Make yourselves known to the Horde there, and you  _will_  get to see your father again, as soon as we can. I believe there are even mages that can teleport you there.”  
  
Ariok opened his mouth, and there was the distant sound of voices calling to one another. “I think they’ve discovered you’ve escaped. You need to leave immediately.”  
  
“We will, and good luck,” Jaina said. “Spirits be with you.”  
  
Ariok stared at her for a moment, and then despite himself, chuckled. “Aye, and spirits be with you as well.” He turned and headed back the way he came. Moments later, Jaina could hear him shouting, directing efforts away from the hatchery.  
  
“Masterfully done,” Vaelan murmured. “Was any of it true?”  
  
“All of it was true,” Jaina said sharply. “I wouldn’t lie to get my way. It’s easier to shoot people than to lie to them. Speaking of which...” She closed her eyes briefly, and Awbee shifted as he felt the summoning spell. Jaina’s posture shifted slightly as her holsters regained their contents. “Now, you were saying about this sanctum. Show me.”  
  
Vaelan muttered, and gathered up the eggs. He passed Jaina one, then two. “I shouldn’t ask if you need your hands for this, should I?”  
  
“Not if you truly understand my reputation,” Jaina replied as he scooped up the last three eggs. “Now what?”  
  
“Here,” Vaelan said, and leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. Knowledge flooded into Jaina’s mind. He was ancient by human measure, though by his own race’s standards he was young yet. Over two hundred thousand sunrises had crept over his large, scaled form. He had travelled all over, from the tips of Tanaris’ Land’s End beach to a large, burnished tower that seemed to stretch forever towards a pale, eternally-winter sky. Jaina sucked in a sharp breath.  
  
_Northrend. Arthas._  
  
_Focus,_  Vaelan reminded her.  _That’s the temple._  
  
_Temple?_  
  
_Wyrmrest Temple. The sanctuary of the flights. Not even Deathwing dares violate the sanctity of its Titan-blessed stones._  The imagery plunged down like a diving bird into the great crevasse beneath the ice. Concealed beneath the frozen wasteland was a portal room, reminding Jaina of the old nexi in Dalaran and Lordaeron, where city portals once faced each other, creating instant connections between distant lands.  _Here._  The imagery dove past two massive, bipedal dragonkin and into a swirling portal.  
  
Jaina could taste the magic on her tongue, feel it, smell it. This was extradimensional space. She could feel the strings of magic she could tug to collapse the portal and cut it off from others, though she kept her knowledge respectful, and turned to what was inside. She felt her breath catch at the sight of it:  
  
There were endless hills of green, dotted by huge, multicoloured flowers of every imaginable type, and a few Jaina had merely heard of. Dragons frolicked, from the stern-faced dragonkin who minded little clusters of eggs to the rowdy, darting hatchlings, to the somewhat more sedate great dragons. Her eyes lit on an immense elder dragon who seemed to be the size of a dozen ships from his noble snout to the long, curved tail that flicked indolently in the sunlight. He raised his head, and called out.  
  
Jaina had believed that dragon to be the largest one she could see. She was wrong. Coming down from the sky, a larger dragon landed beside him. This one was a slightly different colour, and her form was fuller. Different markings, invisible to human eyes save for Vaelan’s granted knowledge, marked her as not simply female, not simply a broodmother of the highest regard... but a Queen.  _The_  Queen.  
  
_Greetings, Jaina Proudmoore,_  said a voice within her mind, as warm as sunlight, as warm as a mother’s embrace, as warm as the freshly tilled soil of Durotar.  _And Vaelastrasz._  
  
_Hello,_  Jaina replied, ‘breathlessly’.  _May I enter your sanctum?_  
  
_Of course, be welcome in my home._  
  
Jaina nodded to herself, breaking contact with Vaelan. “I’ve got it.”  
  
“I can tell,” Vaelan replied, not unkindly. “When you’re ready.”  
  
Jaina nodded, and closed her eyes. Hills, sunlight, flowers, dragons. It filled her mind up, and she began to cast the spell. A tunnel traced out from her, infinite and complex as a series of lines, calculations, and diagrams. Each new set launched them further and further, like a bridge between two points. Ley lines and nodes shining like constellations, but in the ground instead of up in the sky, lit her way. Instead of a tunnel, it became a river, and she swam, gliding effortlessly through the water, twisting and turning. Finally, the river became a cliff, and Jaina jumped, hurtling towards her destination before landing.  
  
It all took no more than a heartbeat.  
  
“Welcome,” Vaelan said with a broad grin as he shed his orc disguise in favour of a human one, “to the Ruby Sanctum.”  
  
Jaina opened her eyes. It was all here. The great dragons, the grass, the sky. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the mixed floral scents. Even Awbee raised his head.  
  
“Put me down,” he urged. Jaina nodded, worried about juggling the eggs in her arms.  
  
“Fear not,” said a gentle, though very loud voice. “My children will take them and keep them safe.” The Dragon-Queen nodded her great head, and several dragonkin approached to take the eggs from both of them, though Vaelan did not allow them to take the black egg. With Jaina’s hands free, she set Awbee down. Tentatively, as if he could not believe it, Awbee took his first steps on soft grass. He walked slowly, carefully, and then began to run as fast as he could. Within moment, young hatchlings were running along beside him and he wept.  
  
“He will be returned to Halegosa’s sanctum soon,” the Dragon-Queen promised.  
  
“Here, let me,” Jaina murmured to Vaelan, holding out her arms. He set the black dragon egg in her arms, and he moved back to shapeshift, and took off with a grateful cry. “I thought he might need to stretch his wings. I met him in a jail cell.”  
  
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” the Dragon-Queen said ruefully. “Do you know who I am, child?”  
  
“You’re Alexstrasza, the Dragon-Queen,” Jaina replied. “And this is... Korialstrasz, your Prime Mate.” She nodded politely to him. “Or Archmage Krasus Goldenmist, the former ambassador to the Alliance from Dalaran, friend to Mage Rhonin and sponsor of the mission to Grim Batol.”  
  
“I’m afraid you lost your wager,” the male dragon, Korialstrasz, said. “Though I applaud your choice of blue, many blues have made their way to Dalaran’s violet halls. Young Kalec got diverted due to the Scourge assault, and I lost track of him.”  
  
“I promise I’ll be amazed over that later, but I’m slightly overwhelmed right now,” Jaina replied, dazed. “This is... incredible. Largely unheard of as well. Has Rhonin been here?”  
  
“He has,” Korialstrasz replied, amused. “He was a good deal less gracious about it.”  
  
“That generally describes him, as I recall it,” Jaina said, taking in a deep breath, and she looked down at the egg in her arms, and over at the dragonkin that hovered nearby. Carefully, she traced a finger down the ebony shell. “Hello, there.”  
  
“He can hear you,” Alexstrasza said mildly. Jaina nodded.  
  
“I know, Vaelan explained your plan. I think it’s a good one. I’d like to say that it’s manipulative, but isn’t every way we raise our children manipulative? We start to teach them right from the cradle. We instill them with our values, our habits... our beliefs. I didn’t grow up in a void. No child does.”  
  
“No,” Alexstrasza agreed, her great, golden eyes watching Jaina closely. “Children need direction.”  
  
“They do,” Jaina agreed, then sighed. “I hope he embraces these new values and doesn’t reject them. We have that choice, too. As we grow, our values are measured against those of others and we make choices. ‘Is what my father taught me right?’ Do his values measure positively or negatively against those of others. What is the world like outside of my own perspective? I believe that what Vaelan wants of this child, that you want, is right... but do you want this child? As a child, not just as a symbol, or a test subject, I mean.”  
  
“Yes,” Alexstrasza said. “While it is true that we reflect ourselves in our children, all parents must accept that their children are individuals, that they will take all that they learn and make their own decisions, follow their own ideals. As such, when they reject our ideals, we must accept that it will happen. I do not know what will happen with this child. I simply refuse to be paralyzed by fear, by indecision. I will love him regardless, because the moment he entered this Sanctum, he ceased to be the child of Nefarian and became the child of Alexstrasza.”  
  
“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” Jaina replied, and placed the egg in the nearest dragonkin’s arms. “I look forward to seeing what he will do in the future.”  
  
“Be cautious, Lady Proudmoore,” Korialstrasz said, his eyes sparkling with good humour. “We might believe that you actually mean it.”  
  
“Oh, I do,” Jaina replied. “I like to be involved in projects that might change the world. Like the continued expansion of the Horde in Kalimdor.”  
  
Several of the dragonkin hissed in disapproval, and Alexstrasza’s gaze became somewhat harder.  
  
“I had wondered where they had run to,” she murmured. “Kalimdor... Ysera’s domain.”  
  
“When Ysera isn’t busy kidnapping Archdruids from their wives, yes,” Jaina said, her tone hard. “I know that you were wronged by the Dragonmaw, by the former Warchief of the Horde, but do you feel anger at the sword, or the hand that wields it?”  
  
“Tools though they may have been to a greater, more evil force, it does not diminish the harm the orcs did to my children, my mates, and myself,” Alexstrasza said sharply. “You presume much.”  
  
“My brother and a third of my father’s fleet died to dragonfire,” Jaina replied, meeting her gaze squarely, resisting the sensation of endlessness through anger and focus. “So should I take comfort in the fact that your flight was controlled, manipulated into doing something that they would never have done otherwise? Or should I feel threatened by you simply because of the colour of your scales, because they did my family harm?”  
  
For a long moment, there was silence. Even the sound of joyous hatchlings had stopped as they looped around, resting on the nearby hillocks. Awbee came to her, pushing against her hand. Without breaking her gaze, Jaina scritched between his ear-holes.  
  
“Antonidas was right about you,” Korialstrasz said. Jaina did not turn to look at him, but he sounded rueful and amused. “I remember when he finalized your qualifications as Archmage, despite your age. He said that we had no need to fear, for your will was stronger than any he’d ever seen. You would tolerate nonsense from no one.”  
  
“There were times when I did during periods of extreme stress,” Jaina replied. “Everyone makes poor decisions during such times, it’s not unforgivable.”  
  
“Even when it gives one indigestion,” Korialstrasz said encouragingly. “Or--”  
  
“I will concede your point,” Alexstrasza said. “Though the orcs of Blackrock do not speak well of your claims.”  
  
“I would be a liar if I claimed that no human ever acted out of evil, or misinformation, or spite,” Jaina said, relaxing a fraction. “So too is it true for orcs. I will not defend Rend Blackhand at any time. I would defend a specific group of his followers, those who never had the chance to go to Kalimdor with Thrall and his new Horde.”  
  
“I have heard of Thrall,” the Dragon-Queen said, nudging slightly against Korialstrasz, who curled against her. Immediately, hatchlings flew up to rest on her great back. This made her smile. “Though you obviously know him personally.”  
  
“He is my closest ally, my dearest friend, and...” Jaina paused, then raised her chin. “My lover. I will not claim that I know him best, but I do know him very well.”  
  
“Ah,” Alexstrasza said simply, and extended her neck slightly to sniff Jaina, and then gave Awbee a brief nuzzle. “Tell me of him, and his new Horde.”  
  
“After the Dark Portal closed, the orcs fell into a fugue, of sorts, that the mages of Dalaran named the Lethargy. The Alliance rounded up as many of them as they could and placed them in internment camps. As prisoners, they were subjected to the anger of those who had lost homes, family, and years to their invasion, and in turn, they did not have the strength to defend themselves or petition for better conditions, forcing a generation of children to grow up in squalor. It seemed as though they needed a miracle, someone untouched by this--”  
  
“Are you attempting to draw parallels between the orcs and the red dragonflight, child?” Alexstrasza asked, irritation tinging her voice. “If so...”  
  
“If you find a similarity between what happened to your dragonflight during the war, and the orcs after the war, I will not judge you for it,” Jaina replied, her emphasis subtle. “Thrall lost his parents as an infant, and was found by humans. His master decided to bring Thrall into his home not out of compassion, but out of a desire to mould him, to manipulate him and to profit from his vulnerability.”  
  
Again, Jaina’s gaze flashed defiance, and Alexstrasza sighed. It was though a small mountain was conceding the point. “Thrall grew up hating himself. He knew he was different despite, or perhaps because of, the fact he was surrounded by humans. He could not miss that he had green skin, that he was larger, that people regarded him with fear, with suspicion, with hate. He was fortunate, though, because there were those who loved him. One of them even helped him escape. He found his people, and he returned to the camps. He broke down the walls that held them, and more than that, he helped them find the strength to break free.”  
  
“That is both brave and impressive,” Korialstrasz said, encouraging. “He was not affected by this Lethargy?”  
  
“He was not,” Jaina said. “And you must know that we never discovered exactly what was causing it. I know that answer now, of course.”  
  
“What was it?” Alexstrasza asked.  
  
“Demons.” Jaina clenched her jaw. “Gul’dan and his ilk sold their people out to demons. When they ultimately failed in their efforts to defeat the Alliance and the Portal finally closed... it broke the contract. Instead of being stronger from the demons’ influence, they became weaker than they were without it. Thrall and his clan never experienced that weakness since they refused to accept it in the first place.”  
  
“I see,” Alexstrasza said and sighed again. “What has he done with this knowledge?”  
  
“He’s told his people that they need never be slaves to demons again. They fought for it and they won. They stood defiant against the demons and the Scourge.  _We_  did. In Hyjal’s aftermath, we’ve all had to change and adapt. My people have built their own home, as have Thrall’s... and the Night Elves needed to adapt to no longer being immortal.”  
  
“I remember when we grew the World Tree together,” Alexstrasza remarked thoughtfully. “They have sacrificed that, have they?”  
  
“Hyjal is healing, but your boon has left them,” Jaina said. “If pride gives us pause, perhaps we have lived too long.”  
  
“Who said that?”  
  
“Malfurion,” Jaina replied. “I miss his wisdom.”  
  
“You said Ysera has drawn him into the Emerald Dream once more,” Alexstrasza said and sighed. “I will have to speak to her about this.”  
  
“Please do,” Jaina said. “I would appreciate it.”  
  
Alexstrasza nodded, and looked Jaina over. “Korialstrasz has told me of you in the past, and he mentioned your teacher, Antonidas, and his ambitions for you. What would you have done with leadership of the Kirin Tor?”  
  
Jaina closed her eyes, remembering. “When I was very young, I wanted to be a pirate. I believe I’d conflated piracy with heroism. A family trait.” She smiled, briefly. “After I came to accept my gifts, I wanted to be the Guardian of Tirisfal. By that time it was long since impossible, but I thought that the world would care for a guardian, if not  _the_ Guardian. I pushed myself hard. I took advanced classes whenever I could, I studied constantly. I rarely went home. I made good friends there... Noah, Rylai. Kylian and Kael.” Her smile became sadder. “Bolvar and Arthas too, though I’d known Arthas from a young age. I believed that Antonidas would live for a very long time, even though he was old when we met, and I was going to go out, save the world, and be back in time to whip the Six into shape.”  
  
“Ambitious child,” Korialstrasz said. “The Six were aggravating, stubborn, and determined to disagree with each other at every turn.”  
  
“You would know, you were one of them,” Jaina noted, and he chuckled. “At sixteen, I thought that I would establish myself and my career, then have children, and balance my ambition with my family life.”  
  
“You want children,” Alexstrasza observed. “You care for them when you find them, but you want your own.”  
  
“Yes,” Jaina replied. “That hasn’t changed. I was engaged to Arthas at the age of twenty-one. We had something of a long courtship, but we were both busy. His paladin training, my archmage training. Antonidas was disappointed, and angry with Arthas for taking me from Dalaran’s council. There is a conflict of interest, you see, for people to rule two nations of the Alliance at once. That’s why Kael’thas was never considered either, though we were peers.”  
  
“You would have made a ferocious team,” Korialstrasz remarked. “It’s a shame--”  
  
Jaina shook her head, sharply. Alexstrasza raised an eye-ridge, but neither would elaborate further.  
  
“What of family?”  
  
“Arthas would need heirs,” Jaina said. “He was... nervous about fatherhood. He tended to avoid the subject, though Uther was enthusiastic. I know he appreciated my intelligence and my... stubbornness.”  
  
“Uther wasn’t marrying you, though, Arthas was,” Korialstrasz said, even as he added a growl to the former Crown Prince of Lordaeron’s name. “What about him?”  
  
“I loved Arthas a great deal, though he was flawed. I knew it before we were engaged, but out of... stubbornness I refused to accept it. He was proud and arrogant, and sometimes it was breathtaking. We felt invincible. He respected my power and my independence... but he also had something of a superiority complex. He was stubborn too... once he decided on a course of action, he would accept nothing less than victory. People knew it. People manipulated him with it.”  
  
“Kel’thuzad.”  
  
“Yes.” Jaina looked to Korialstrasz. “You probably remember Nicolai Kelthus. He manipulated us -- both of us, I won’t deny it -- into doing exactly what the Lich King wanted. Arthas... wouldn’t have picked up the trail if it weren’t for my help, and I wouldn’t have gone all the way to Stratholme. After Hearthglen I would have gone back to Dalaran for an army. I... I left him at Stratholme. I was so exhausted. We’d come so far, and I couldn’t deny what Arthas was doing. He was being too stubborn, too unyielding. I watched him dissolve an institution that was the backbone of the Alliance simply because Uther disagreed with him. He swore that nothing would stop him, and I just couldn’t argue with that. So I walked away. I... slept, I recovered, and he sought me out.” Jaina lapsed into uneasy silence.  
  
Alexstrasza crept forward, and gently nudged against her. Jaina extended a hand, stroking her muzzle. “What happened then?”  
  
“He was vague about Stratholme. He said he knew where the plague had come from, that he had to go to Northrend. He wanted me to come with him, he said he’d forgive me if I did. I told him it was a trap. We were together, one last time. I think I had hoped I’d convinced him to stay. He’d simply convinced me to let my guard down so he could leave.”  
  
“And the rest is history.”  
  
“I was pregnant when I left for Kalimdor.” There was a sense of desperation in the confession, and the great dragons exchanged a look. “I hadn’t realized it. I thought the interruption in my courses was due to stress. I thought that the sickness and pain was due to the march across Kalimdor. That the anger and the irritability was due to the fact that my people had been hounded by the Horde through Stonetalon, and then I was being asked by the Last Guardian himself to ally with them!” Jaina shook her head. “Well, I’m sure that was also true. Medivh was being both high-handed and vague.”  
  
“What happened to the child?”  
  
“I lost it. Korialstrasz will have heard of this, but mages who extend themselves in a significant way experience mage fever. It takes a toll on our bodies. During the battle of Hyjal there was no opportunity for me to take things easy. We fought for our lives, our very right to survive. I pushed myself to the edge... we all did. During my bout of mage fever, I lost the child I didn’t realize I was carrying... that my physician didn’t know I was carrying.”  
  
“It wasn’t your fault,” Alexstrasza began, and Jaina shook her head lightly.  
  
“I don’t blame myself... I have no reason to.” She patted Alexstrasza’s nose again. “It’s not as if I could have laid an egg somewhere safe to protect it. I don’t regret my choices. One life, the life of a world. I was prepared to sacrifice my own life. Pregnancy would never have stopped me. I am not that selfish. I was... damaged, though. I’m functionally infertile. I’ve been told there’s a slight chance, so I wear a birth control charm, but... I won’t know that joy I wanted once.”  
  
“Do you still want it?” Alexstrasza asked, and Jaina felt the question tingle through her.  
  
“Yes,” Jaina said. “My career is stable, if not different from how I believed it would be. I am a little older now, a little more steady. I’m less likely to stay up until all hours and forget to eat. Theramore is a good home for children. My chamberlain is the mother of two children, and I know she wouldn’t object to more. She and her husband are good parents. I even...”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Thrall would be a good father, I think. If he wants children. He loves the children of Orgrimmar, I’ve seen that. They’re precious to him. Family is precious to him. His own family was taken from him for a long time... his parents, his sister, his grandfather. At one stage or another, they were gone. I just don’t know if...”  
  
“If he would want children with you?” The question from Korialstrasz was quiet, but hid an intensity underneath it. Jaina met his gaze.  
  
“I don’t know. That’s the thing about being in multiple failed relationships. You start questioning even the happiest parts of your life, looking for the flaws you may have missed. I know that one of his closest allies is a halforcen, though she likes to keep her identity secret.” She smiled. “I know that he has no objections to my chamberlain’s family, and her children are halforcen. I simply can’t speak for the permanence of our relationship.”  
  
“Would you require a permanent relationship to have a child?” The question, innocently asked, made Jaina give her a sharp look, then she sighed.  
  
“No, I suppose I don’t, though it would be painful if our relationship ended because of it.” Jaina scritched along her great eye-ridge, and the Dragon-Queen half-closed her eyes, making a pleased, rumbling sound.  
  
“Do not cease to dream,” Alexstrasza murmured. “It is a mortal’s greatest gift.”  
  
“I won’t,” Jaina promised. “Though I should go. I have more promises to keep.” She took in a deep breath. “Thank you, I feel... unburdened. I’ve been holding this in for a long time.”  
  
“The Ruby Sanctum is a place of many blessings,” Alexstrasza said, withdrawing slightly. “Say goodbye, children.”  
  
A chorus of young voices, male and female, chimed in to wish Jaina well on her journey. Jaina knelt and embraced Awbee.  
  
“Thank you, I won’t forget you,” Awbee said. Jaina smiled.  
  
“You’d better not, because I’ll see you again, and you can take me flying,” Jaina said. Awbee nodded emphatically. Jaina straightened, and nodded to both elder dragons. “Say goodbye to Vaelan for me as well.”  
  
“We shall, be blessed by life abundant.” Alexstrasza stood, careful not to dislodge her many passengers. Jaina felt warm as she cast the teleportation spell that would bring her back to Stormwind.  
  
~ * ~  
  
_All in all, it’s been a busy day,_  Jaina thought wearily.  _Rather, a busy three days, with lots of teleportation, a kidnapping, a trove of research to sink my teeth into when I get home, a rescue..._  She smiled.  _So, as a whole, a very productive trip._  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”  
  
Jaina turned. “Hello, Varian. Nice to see you too. Lovely nation you have here, when it’s not beset on all sides by various easily-avoidable problems.” The sense of ease she’d felt since leaving the Ruby Sanctum faded.  
  
“Don’t start with me,” the King of Stormwind warned. Jaina looked him over, and even as her temper prickled, she felt a stab of concern. Varian was only a decade older than she was, but he looked as though he’d aged twenty years. His appearance was wild, his dark brown hair shaggy and scarcely tamed. Jaina could not help but contrast his rugged chin, dotted by stubble to Thrall’s carefully trimmed and cultivated beard, and Varian’s wild locks to Thrall’s oiled and braided hair.  
  
_Naturally though, Thrall is the savage one,_  Jaina thought sourly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Someone needs to, it looks like you’ve stuck your head in a gnomish flying machine’s propeller,” she replied tartly. “As for what I’m doing, I’m solving your problem.”  
  
“Thelwater says you ordered the release of multiple Defias prisoners!” Varian cried, ignoring the shot at his appearance. “They’re criminals, what are you thinking?”  
  
“I believe I detailed a report of the situation involving the false Defias. All of the people who I asked to be released -- asked, not ordered, Warden Thelwater is not my employee -- were true Defias. Those that remain are petty thugs that I believe to have been hired by an independent entity.”  
  
“You can turn people into sheep, anything you ask is pretty well an order,” Varian muttered. Jaina raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“What does it say about a king who can put him in jail alongside his former charges when  _I_  am the one he fears?” Varian met her gaze, briefly, and Jaina was surprised by the circles under his eyes. “Do you not sleep?”  
  
“As you so kindly pointed out, Azeroth is beset on all sides by problems. It keeps me up at night.” Suddenly, as if realizing his state, he ran his hands through his hair, attempting to tame it. “Including the damned Defias.”  
  
“Not any more,” Jaina pointed out, watching him closely. “The Defias problem is gone.”  
  
“You did not solve my problem, you moved it to bloody Kalimdor!” Varian cried. Jaina refused to be cowed. “First the orcs, now this? You wonder why people don’t trust you.”  
  
“Remarkably, many people trust me,” Jaina said. “As for the orcs, they are entirely trustworthy. They’ve lost too much to be insincere now. You’d know that if you came to Kalimdor, as I’ve requested.”  
  
“You’re insane,” Varian muttered. “Bolvar may agree, but the rest of the council is against it. It’s far too dangerous.”  
  
“Only because you insist on travelling by boat,” Jaina pointed out. “Which is insulting to the sea captains that allow Azeroth to pull itself out of its debts. I could teleport you there right now.”  
  
“I don’t have time to go on vacation, Jaina.”  
  
“Then call it a diplomatic mission, we’ll even have a summit. I haven’t had one in several years, and this time a demon isn’t even chasing me. Varian.” Jaina reached up, and caught a lock of his hair, pushing it back into his groping hands. “You need a change of pace. If you place so much trust in that council of yours, trust them to watch over things for a little while. The change of perspective could do you some good.”  
  
“I have all the advice I could want, I don’t need yours,” Varian shot back, stung. If anything, her gentler tone only discomforted him more. “The answer is no.”  
  
“Didn’t you just say Bolvar agreed with me?” Jaina asked. “If you don’t need my advice, do you also not need his?”  
  
Silence. Jaina watched him pace to the window, and look out into the courtyard, and kept her peace. As she watched, she shivered as a sudden chill hit her.  _Is someone there?_  
  
“I’ll consider it,” Varian said finally. Jaina smiled.  
  
“Thank you, Varian. Change will do you good. New sights, new people... new opportunities for Azeroth.”  
  
“Change has never done me any damned good,” Varian muttered, but he nodded to her. Jaina thought to pat his shoulder but decided against it.  
  
“I need to go, it’s past time that I return to my own people. Goodbye, Varian.”  
  
He nodded to her, and stared at her as she cast the teleportation spell, finally shaking the sensation of being watched.


	6. Epilogue: Early Autumn, Year 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 31st, 2013 on LiveJournal.

Jaina inhaled, drawing in the scents of Orgrimmar. While not her home, Orgrimmar filled her with warmth. She had missed attending the Harvest Festival with Thrall, but the Festival would continue in one way or another until the first weeks of Winter.  
  
_This is what prosperity smells like,_  Jaina thought happily, and headed towards Grommash Hold. The Kor’Kron nodded to her as she passed, unsurprised to find her inside the city. She smiled at them brightly, and even waved at one of them, a stern, grey-eyed female Kor’Kron.  
  
_There she is,_  Jaina thought with satisfaction.  _I’ll have to tell Thrall I know at some point soon, I just..._  “Is the Warchief in residence?” she asked.  
  
“He has recently returned from the Echo Isles,” the woman replied evenly. “He is resting. Do you require a meeting with him?”  
  
“Yes,” Jaina replied. “A private one.”  
  
She nodded again, gesturing Jaina onward. Jaina nodded back, and forced herself not to dash towards Thrall’s private quarters. She knocked lightly, then more firmly.  
  
“Yes? Come in,” Thrall said, and the sound of his rumbling voice made her shiver.  
  
_I missed him more than I realized, I think,_  Jaina thought as she opened the door, and closed it behind her. It wasn’t as though it was an unusual feeling for her; Thrall’s voice was deep, resonant, and it comforted her to hear it, as did his appearance: he was wearing simple trousers, and there were fading marks on his skin, most of which were paint, but some were freshly healed cuts. “Did something happen when I was gone?”  
  
“Jaina!” Thrall turned, startled, though he smiled brightly, warmth in his sky blue eyes. He opened his arms to her, and she threw herself into them, embracing him eagerly. As he kissed her, she inhaled. Orcs had a strong scent, she knew this intimately, and she loved the way Thrall smelled: faintly of sweat, of dust, of his frostwolf. Of... orc, though she had it on good authority that some orcs, more arrogant and less careful than Thrall, positively reeked.  
  
_I don’t need him to smell any other way,_  she thought, running her hands through his hair. He ran his hands down her back, and every part of her that he touched tingled. She made a soft noise against his lips, and he paused only briefly. “I wanted to ask about your journey, but first, do you want to have sex?” There was an eagerness in his gaze and touch that belied the very calm way he asked it of her. In reply, Jaina pushed herself against his body, and he groaned softly.  
  
“Yes, Thrall. I do.”  
  
He smiled again, and drew her towards the bed, sitting down. Jaina straddled one of his legs and kissed him, running her hands over his chest. She was gentle with the cuts, and reverent of his scars. In return, Thrall’s touch was gentle as he unfastened the sash of her robes, dropping it on the floor. She shrugged her robes off, and he cupped one of her breasts in his large, warm hand, nuzzling the soft flesh as the other hand unfastened her breastband, sending it tumbling after her robes. Her breath hitched as he suckled her nipple, and she rode his thigh a little higher, moving against him. She let her hand rest on his shoulder, pushing lightly.  
  
Thrall let himself be pushed back onto the bed, and she kicked the rest of her clothing free. He shifted to lie on the bed, and Jaina paused to admire him: his bright green skin, his muscled arms, stomach and torso... that kind smile, the eagerness in his eyes. Briefly, she felt a pang of worry, that that look, the look he gave  _her_  would belong to another.  
  
_Don’t borrow trouble, he obviously still wants you now,_  she chided herself. She ran her hands down his stomach and undid the ties of his trousers, tugging them down and free. Evidence of how much he wanted her was already apparent, and she smiled, bringing her hands down to cup and stroke him. Thrall groaned, and ran a hand along her stomach, then down between her thighs. Her breath hitched. She could see his nose twitch as her own desire hit him.  
  
Never unenthusiastic while in bed with her lover, Jaina felt as though her skin was aflame with desire, and even as she moved eagerly against his fingers, she wondered at the feeling.  _Is it all that talk with Alexstrasza that’s made me so needy? Is it having to deal with Varian that makes me long for my lover’s touch? I’m overanalyzing._  
  
With a thought, she summoned oil, and redoubled her efforts to stroke him. Thrall’s hips bucked, he murmured her name as he pushed a finger into her. She let out a long, low moan.  
  
“Yes...” She moved her hips into the touch. “Thrall...”  
  
“It feels like it’s been too long,” he panted, and guided her to him. He removed his finger from inside her, tracing her clit on the way out. She smiled at his obvious teasing, and pushed herself onto him. She couldn’t help but remember that first time. They’d been cautious. Time had shown what they could and couldn’t do, but this position was still her favourite, riding him like the swelling tide.  
  
Thrall liked it too, if his gentle, deep thrusts were any indication, and the way his hands moved along her back, and then to her chest, squeezing and stroking. The pinch of his nails was just right, and so was the movement of muscle under skin.  
  
_I could do this forever,_  Jaina thought as they moved together, admiring the way his skin looked against hers. He increased his pace marginally and she moaned.  _Maybe not_  forever... She took his hands in hers and he smiled, letting her ease one hand back to the mattress, then the other. Like this, he was pinned, with only Jaina to hold him down, and...  
  
_Is this a metaphor for what we have?_  she wondered, even as she matched his pace. She bent down, kissing his nose. As she ghosted her lips over his eyes, her body shifted foward. The angle of his hips changed, his next thrust striking her deeply. She moaned.  _Am I what’s holding him back from finding another mate? What will our future be like?_  
  
“Jaina...” Thrall cried out urgently. “I...”  
  
“I’m here,” she said immediately, and arched her hips into his next thrust. “Yes... yes...”  
  
Thrall could not touch her to urge her on, and there was something thrilling in his desire to try, his pinned strength under her. That brought her the rest of the way as she orgasmed, moving with Thrall as she felt his release. They slowed eventually, and she released his hands, easing herself down to lay against his warm, sweaty chest. His scent was strongest just after sex, and she rubbed her nose against him, wrinkling it from the wetness even as she enjoyed the smell.  
  
“Jaina, I...” Thrall began, panting. She wiggled against him and kissed his ear.  
  
“Yes, Thrall?” she whispered. He smiled, and turned his head to kiss her deeply, saying nothing more. She settled against his side, leaving talk of their respective adventures for later.  
  
_I love you,_  she thought, keeping an arm around him snugly.  _I will love you even when you leave me._  The sentiment made her sad, and she closed her eyes.  _So long as it’s not right now._  
  
Thrall murmured, and the lights flickered out, leaving them in warm, intimate darkness.  
  
End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proceed with Unity 19 (20 on AO3) when you are finished this story.


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